


The Red String of Fate

by AzureSummoner



Series: The Red String of Fate [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Abduction, Aftercare, Blow Jobs, Consensual Sex, Consent Issues in Ch 9 (please read the notes), Darkfic, Dubious Consent, Emet-Selch needs therapy, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hyur (but mostly ambiguous) WoL, Manipulation, My First Smut, Oral Sex, Seduction, Unhealthy Relationships, Vaginal Sex, WoL needs therapy, aether tentacles, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:54:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 29,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22276666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AzureSummoner/pseuds/AzureSummoner
Summary: Emet-Selch had said there would be a price to pay for retrieving Y’shtola from the lifestream.  That the Ascian had expected something in return for his generosity didn’t surprise you in the least.  What you never would have anticipated is that the price he demanded was you.
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light, Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light, Very minor Zenos yae Galvus/Warrior of Light, past Warrior of Light/Aymeric de Borel
Series: The Red String of Fate [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1679860
Comments: 98
Kudos: 479





	1. No Strings Attached (EX)

**Author's Note:**

> **WARNING** This story deals with themes that readers might find upsetting, particularly manipulation, unhealthy relationships, and consent (Ch 9 and beyond). PLEASE mind the tags and read the notes before each chapter. If you see something you're curious about/want to discuss something I've written, feel free to drop me a comment. If you feel there's a tag I should add please mention it in the comments. Thank you!
> 
> Second Warning - Don't read Chapter 1 at work. Several people have told me it makes for an uncomfy day. D:
> 
> Welp, I did it. My first fic for FFXIV, the first fic I've written in years, and oh boy it's smut. I have no idea what I've done.

Emet-Selch had said there would be a price to pay for retrieving Y’shtola from the lifestream. That the Ascian had expected something in return for his _generosity_ didn’t surprise you in the least. What you never would have anticipated is that the price he demanded was _you_.

He had caught you aside when that bargain was struck, so the likelihood of your friends knowing of your plight is... abysmal. Emet-Selch had quietly performed his good deed, and then days had passed without a word. That lasted until about twenty minutes ago, when he unceremoniously appeared in your room, made his desires known, then spirited you away to here. Wherever here was.

Now he advances on you, agonizingly slow. You don’t dare to drop your eyes from his, but it’s a poor showing of your false bravery. At some point you feel the wall against your back -- when had you retreated? -- and with every step he takes toward you the chances of slipping away grow dimmer and dimmer. Inevitably, the lack of decision costs you dearly; with his hands braced against the wall on either side of you, there is nowhere left to run.

You’ve not paid particular attention to the height difference between you and Emet-Selch before, certainly he stands a good fulm taller, but under the Ascian’s golden gaze you have never felt so small. He makes the barest of movements, pressing just closer to your body, and you can feel the warmth radiating from him. He looks as though he might say something, and you wish he would just so you could hear something other than the hammering of your own heart against your ribcage. Instead, he inclines his face down towards you, those beautiful golden eyes drifting shut as his warm breath ghosts over your lips. 

You are many things: the Warrior of Light, the Warrior of Darkness. The bane of Primals, slayer of Ascians. A savior. 

You are also severely undersexed.

It’s not that you don’t _want_ to explore your more passionate desires -- why are you thinking of this now? -- but when is there ever time? There is always some gods-damned conflict that demands your attention, often leaving you ever so tired and generally wanting space to yourself. 

And now here you are, digging your fingertips into the wall behind you like a nervous virgin. 

Emet-Selch’s lips press against yours softly, steadily, and you instinctively close your eyes. Every onze of your awareness becomes focused on the sensation of his mouth gently sliding against yours as you finally begin to calm your anxious breathing. 

Kissing is familiar. You had loved kissing Ser Aymeric. Beautiful, noble Ser Aymeric, with full lips slightly chapped from the frigid climate of Ishgard. The only true lover you had ever taken, you could have kissed him for hours while whiling the day away in bed. You try to linger on the pleasant memories as a distraction, but can’t help thinking of how impossibly soft Emet-Selch’s lips are. 

When he pulls away you realize too late that you lean in to follow him, a heated blush creeping into your cheeks. You open your eyes to find a trace of amusement in his expression, but rather than mock you, he wordlessly trails his hands down your arms until he grasps your own, then gently tugs you away from the wall and toward the center of the room. 

You finally chance a look at your surroundings and realize that you’re in a rather elaborate bedroom, but the details are lost as you see that Emet-Selch is leading you toward said bed. Maybe he’s finally going to fuck you and get it over with, you think, and it occurs to you that his behavior is surely what has you feeling so unsettled. When he had announced his intentions to take you, you expected him to simply shove you face-first into a mattress and have his way with you. The way he’s acting, however, is far from your anticipations. 

He stops then, leaving you facing toward the bed as he gracefully slips behind you, his hands never quite leaving your body. They come to settle low on your hips, and suddenly he’s pressing his fingers into your skin as he drags his hands up, along your ribs, eliciting a surprised gasp from you as he briefly cups your breasts. You draw and then exhale a deep breath as he continues to smooth his hands up to your shoulders, briefly pausing his ministrations to brush your hair to one side of your neck. You feel his forehead, his nose, his lips brush against the bare skin before he begins to plant warm, deliberate kisses along your neck. The affection in the gesture catches you off guard and you subconsciously tilt your head aside, allowing him better access.

Your breath begins to hitch again as his hands stroke down your shoulders, taking with them the thin straps of the chemise you’re wearing. He tugs the garment down and you’re dimly aware of it coming to settle low on your waist, the straps snagged at your elbows while his wandering hands trail back up to give your naked breasts the attention they deserve. Between the slide of fabric and the caress of silken-gloved fingers, your nipples have stiffened and become sensitized. Emet-Selch teasingly rubs his thumbs around the rosey nubs before splaying his fingers across the soft flesh and pulling you back until you’re flush against his body. 

A heady little moan escapes you at the sudden feeling of his arousal pressed against your backside. Your dizzy thoughts are almost brought back to a moment of clarity by your embarrassment, until the Ascian rewards you by sucking at the junction of your neck and shoulder. You bite down on your lower lip as he returns to alternating between massaging your breasts and rolling your nipples, and you distantly wonder if he’s going to leave a bruise on your neck.

The thought dissipates as you feel a sudden chill against your back where his warmth had been a moment ago. He’s drawn back slightly, just enough to spin you around in his embrace and then his mouth is on yours, open and wanting. You feel him coax the chemise down off of your hips to fall away to the floor, before his hands move lower to grasp at your ass and pull you against him once more. You reflexively reach up to brace your palms flat against his broad chest and realize that you’ve effectively trapped your hands between the two of you, but your resistance seems like a token effort at this point. 

Emet-Selch’s tongue slips from your mouth and you’re suddenly pushed away. The backs of your knees hit the edge of the mattress and you’re caught off balance, falling and just barely bracing yourself before you can land flat on your back. You puff out a small breath and gaze up into those gold eyes, which seem to be practically glowing in the somewhat dim light. 

Without taking his eyes from you, Emet-Selch begins to disrobe. You watch in fascination as he deftly sheds layer upon layer of the complicated Garlean frippery, tossing the fabrics aside into a plush chair you hadn’t noticed before. Before long he stands before you in black trousers, having even neatly kicked his boots and socks off. 

For what feels like an eternity the two of you simply watch one another. You exhale a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, and that’s when he moves. With a few short steps he’s kneeling onto the mattress, his much larger form hovering over you, crawling over top of you. 

You feel nervousness begin to pool in the pit of your stomach once more as you instinctively shuffle yourself backward, and try to swallow down a lump in your throat. Emet-Selch catches you by the wrist and, in another unexpected moment of tenderness, brings your hand toward his face and gently kisses your palm. It momentarily shocks you out of your silence, and for the first time since you’ve been brought to this place, you say something.

“Before… before you…” You swallow and take a breath. “No strings attached, right?”

He regards you for a moment before finally his lips twitch into a familiar smirk -- a slight comfort in a bizarre sense of thinking -- and he answers.

“You’re putting too much thought into this, dear hero. If you’d wanted me to treat you like some sort of _barbarian_ , you should have said so from the start.” 

Slightly vexed by his attitude your mouth opens to form a retort, but instead you bite off a surprised squeak as he grabs you by the hips and drags you down onto your back, underneath of him. 

You feel your face burning as the reality of your situation settles in, and your brain begins to compile a list of every regrettable life choice you’ve ever made, which somehow culminates in why you ever agreed to Emet-Selch’s price in the first place. 

At some point during your inventory of life’s distresses, the man above you has unfastened his trousers and has sat up to begin working his way out of them. You find yourself perplexed by the entire charade of him actually bothering to take his clothes off, when it seems he could simply snap his fingers and be done with it. You’re still puzzling over this as he slides the garment down narrow hips and adjusts himself momentarily to kick it away to the floor. He pauses momentarily before flashing you a lewd grin, and that’s when you realize you’ve been staring at his erection the entire time.

“There’s no point in feigning modesty _now_ ,” he chides as you quickly avert your eyes. “I’m sure you’ve seen one before.”

_You have_ , you’re tempted to bite back, but fear that opening such a line of argument would only further serve your humiliation. Given the few men you’ve been with in your life it hardly seems a fair comparison, but what you’ve just seen might make even _Aymeric_ feel a bit insecure. No, you don’t want to pursue this line of thinking. The last thing you need is to stroke the Ascian’s ego and get him to wax poetic about his _fitness_ as an Emperor and so forth.

Fortunately, you’re pulled out of that disastrous line of thinking. Unfortunately, the manner in which you’ve been rescued from yourself is by a pair of hands sliding up your inner thighs. You gasp a bit late as Emet-Selch’s fingers hook under the hem of your smallclothes and slide them down your legs. 

Snapped back to the present, you see that the playfulness has left his face, and he now regards you with undisguised lust. Tossing the flimsy garment over his shoulder he leans over you and braces his hands on your knees, pushing your legs up and apart as he settles his weight between them. You feel your face heating up again but you’re unable to tear your eyes away from him, watching as he hooks one of your legs over his shoulder and nuzzles against you, pressing a kiss much too close to your most intimate area. 

The first languid brush of his tongue against your sex leaves you open-mouthed and staring at the ceiling. Hydaelyn, this is actually happening. 

Sliding his hands beneath your ass to squeeze at the generous flesh, Emet-Selch traces soft circles around your clitoris with his tongue, followed by broad, flat strokes against your labia. A kiss against your thigh, followed by gentle nibbling at your clit. He is relentless in his deliberations, and it’s not long before you’re a trembling, panting mess. You try to flex your thighs as the pleasure builds at your apex, but Emet-Selch holds you fast in his grip, laughing softly as he continues to work you with his tongue, his lips, his teeth. When you reach your peak it shakes you with its intensity, a wave of warmth and pleasure that radiates from your core. 

Tension drains from your body as you collapse back against the sheets, tension that you weren’t aware you’d been holding in. You blink dazedly and run a hand across your face before feeling a weight shift between your legs. Still drunk on your own high, you find the Ascian on his knees, crawling up your prone form, trailing kisses along the way. 

He presses his lips against your stomach, your ribcage, between your breasts. He slides his tongue across your skin and takes a pert nipple into his mouth, reaching up to massage your breasts while sucking at the hardened nub. With a thumb he traces circles around the areola of your unattended bud, before switching his oral attentions to the opposite side. 

You’re not sure how much time passes before you find yourself face-to-face with him, Emet-Selch kneeling over you, a hand braced on either side of your head. You aren’t sure how to read the look he gives you, and before you have a chance to expend the effort he leans down to kiss you, the salt from your own skin on his tongue. 

When he draws away he presses his lips against your temple, then shifts himself lower against your body. This night has finally progressed to its final act, but you’re too far gone to care now. 

You moan softly when you feel him slide his length along your labia, and again, coating himself in your slickness. You inhale shallowly when you feel the tip of him against your entrance. 

Emet-Selch slides his forearms beneath you, his hands cradling your shoulders from below as he begins to push into you. He takes his time, easing into you ilm by ilm until his hips are flush with yours. 

You close your eyes and for a moment, your thoughts cross unbidden to darker places. You don’t know why, but the face of Zenos comes to mind. The Garlean prince and his unhealthy obsession with you. He’d never hidden his perverse lust for you, much as you wanted no part of it. A fragment of you wonders what he would think if he could see you now, impaled on his great-granddaddy’s cock. You almost wish you could see the look on his face.

Emet-Selch moans softly against your cheek as he begins to withdraw, pulling out halfway before easing his hips back into you. You breathe softly as he repeats the motion several times, testing your readiness before increasing his pace, settling into a steady rhythm. He holds you against him as he rocks his hips into you, lowering his face to nuzzle and kiss at your neck, your cheek, periodically pausing to claim your mouth. You find your hands circling around to his back and you stroke your fingers along the smooth skin, sometimes lightly grazing with your nails, then soothing with a delicate touch.

It’s wrong. It’s too _intimate_ . Some part of you knows this, but your brain is probably too riddled with oxytocin to rationalize it. You thought he’d simply wanted to fuck you as some form of humiliation, or a way of lording his Ascian _superiority_ over you. The man above you, inside of you, does none of that. Emet-Selch makes love to you like a man possessed. It briefly occurs to you that even sex with Aymeric had never felt so _personal_. 

At some point he begins murmuring sweet words to you, his warm breath tickling your ear. You’re beautiful. You feel so wonderful. He calls you _darling_.

Between that, the way he holds you, and the delicious friction of him between your legs it’s not long before you feel that overwhelming warmth blossoming inside of you again. Despite yourself you reach down to where he steadily thrusts into you, tracing your fingers through the wetness of your joining before coming up several ilms to trace gentle circles around your clit. You’re so close. If he keeps going, just like that…

Without a word he shifts you ever so slightly in his hold, lifting his head from your shoulder to kiss along your jaw. Your breathing has grown more labored as you chase your orgasm, and you writhe on his cock as you feel yourself crest the edge. 

Emet-Selch’s mouth descends on yours as you cry out your pleasure, and he continues to ride you as you shudder and finally relax so completely in his arms. As he draws back your hands sweep across his broad chest, his shoulders, and it’s probably a good thing that you can’t see the look of utter _adoration_ on your own face as you gaze up at him.

Some inexplicable feeling within you has taken hold. You want to see him come undone, to share in your pleasure. Emet-Selch increases his pace, his movements gradually becoming more roughened. You run your fingers up into his hair, cradling his head as you gently run your nails along his scalp while cooing words of encouragement at him. Your legs wrap around his waist and you lock your ankles behind his hips, pulling him as deep into your body as he can go as he finds his release. He holds you close and moans your name. You’re somewhat aware that it’s the first time he’s ever called you by name.

Warmth spreads in your core where his seed fills you, and he pants soft breaths against your lips. You remain like that for a moment, simply gazing at one another. He finally shifts to slide out of you and disentangle your bodies, before collapsing to lay beside you. He reaches up to stroke the side of your face before wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close.

You’ve paid Emet-Selch’s price, and then some. If you were in any right state of mind, which you’re not, you would quickly make your way back to the Pendants and pray that this night be quickly forgotten.

Instead, you drift off to sleep in the arms of your enemy.

\---------

The Warrior quickly fades away into the land of dreams as Emet-Selch affectionately strokes her arm. She never sees the cheshire grin, the utter _smugness_ that radiates from the Ascian’s expression. 

“My dear Warrior,” he sighs, “I promised I would tell you no lies, and I haven’t. But the red string of fate that binds us together has ever existed. It will never break.”

For the countless lifetimes it had taken, the eons of loneliness, Hades had finally found his soulmate again. And this time, he would never let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are a writer and/or enjoy FFXIV fics, come join a very friendly and enabling group: https://discord.gg/ftFnYbe
> 
> Find me on Twitter: @AzureSummoner


	2. Affliction (EX)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The WoL ponders recent events, and receives a visit from her favorite Ascian.

As morning unfolds across the Crystarium you find yourself sitting by the window in your room at the Pendants, letting your thoughts wander. 

Most of last night still feels like some sort of fever dream. You don’t remember falling asleep and only the Twelve knew when you woke. What you do remember is the brief panic that shook you upon waking in an unfamiliar room, until you realized that the warmth at your back was the sleeping form of Emet-Selch, his muscular arm wrapped around your waist.

It had taken some time to rouse him (the man hadn’t exaggerated about his fondness of sleep), and you implored him to return you to the Pendants before someone took note of your absence. He’d taunted you about it a bit and eventually relented, but not before pushing you down into the plush bedding and seducing you one more time.

When you finally returned to your room you collapsed into bed, so very exhausted. Sleep came quickly and without dreams, and when you woke again you were cold and alone.

Now you scowl at your own reflection in the tea cup you hold, but there’s no point in brooding. You take a deep breath and resolve to begin your day. 

After laying out your clothes you pin your hair up and slip into a hot bath, sinking below the water until your chin touches the surface. You’ve been thoroughly distracted from the myriad events of these last few days, but there’s no one here to distract you now.

You’d nearly lost Y’shtola, until the Ascian had come to her rescue. Then in the depths of the Qitana Ravel your group had come upon a most distressing scene, and Emet-Selch was all too eager to enlighten you as to the nature of the  _ true world _ and his people. Tried to justify his warped plan to sacrifice countless lives in some attempt to reclaim the long-gone past. Asserted that Hydaelyn, the mother crystal whose blessing and will had guided you for so long, was in reality an ancient primal.

It was too much to absorb in such short order. You could never share his ideals, cannot justify his reasoning -- how much of it was his own? If he were to be believed, the Ascians were tempered by Zodiark. You’ve seen first-hand how powerful the tempering of a primal is, though Emet-Selch and his associates seem to exert an unusual amount of free will. You attempt to examine the truth of his story all the same. 

You can’t help but think that Emet-Selch had sounded so  _ tired _ . What would it be like to lose everything you knew and be forced to live on? You close your eyes and rest your head back against the edge of the bathing tub. Hadn’t Fordola asked you something similar not so long ago?

It doesn’t linger in your mind for long, you won’t allow it to. You’re still contemplating the gods-damned Ascian and the sequence of events that led to him approaching you in your room last night. The way he had held you close, the feeling of your bodies pressed together, the longing in his eyes as he hovered over you. 

_ Shit _ , you think, growling and splashing at the rapidly cooling water. You really have been starved for affection if you’re letting this bother you so much. Emet-Selch had posed as the Emperor of Garlemald and sired a royal lineage. You have no doubt that he’d had his pick of willing lovers, and he obviously trumped you in the department of sexual prowess. There was nothing significant about what had passed between you last night. You were simply a mark in his bed post. A conquest. A bragging right. And you had lapped it up like a woman dying of thirst.

You grab a bar of soap and washcloth and set to scrubbing yourself down as quickly as possible. You soon smell nice, but it does nothing for the knot in your stomach or the shameful heat between your thighs. 

Y’shtola wants to see you this morning. She’s been mothering over you with a particular fervor after you’d absorbed the last Light Warden. Surely a visit with her will serve to sober you up.

\-----

It’s nearly evening by the time you return to the Pendants, but you’ve had your priorities sufficiently refocused. Or so you think. 

You roll over in bed just in time to see spirals of dark energy materialize from the air, and all too quickly your favorite Ascian is invading your quality alone time.

“Emet-Selch!” you snarl, sitting up abruptly. You clench your pillow in a death grip and contemplate throwing it at him, for lack of a better ballistic. The idea of summoning a carbuncle to nip at his heels crosses your mind, but your grimoire rests upon a table on the other side of the room.

“You don’t sound very pleased to see me, hero,” he croons. “And here I thought we were finally getting to  _ know _ one another.” 

Your face warms at his suggestive tone and you silently curse yourself for letting him derail you so thoroughly, with such minimal effort.

“Learn to use a door,” you mutter, attempting to mold your face into a rather severe expression. Judging by his lack of a reaction, you are pretty sure that it hasn’t had the intended effect.

“Now what would your Scions think if they saw me calling upon you in your private rooms?” 

“Why are you here?” you ask, hoping to cut to the chase.

“Your standoffishness wounds me, my dear.” He clutches at his chest in a dramatic show. “Don’t think that your plight has escaped my ever watchful eye. ‘Tis a grave matter indeed, and I am merely concerned for your well-being.”

Clearly, he has spied on your meeting with Y’shtola. 

“My well-being is a private affair,” you grumble unconvincingly. 

“Not when you are the so-called Warrior of Darkness,” Emet-Selch chides. “But I digress. You did appear rather in good health just last night.”

He’s so determined to steer your conversation back towards  _ that _ , and as you are so put off by having to deal with the Ascian so soon after the fact, you struggle with finding the words to drive him away.

“Good. It seems that you’ve accomplished what you came here for. You should be along your way now.”

Emet-Selch wags a finger at you as his lips stretch into a lazy grin.

“There is  _ one other _ matter.” He takes a step toward you, and you dig your nails into the pillow.

“I’m pretty sure we have nothing else to discuss,” you try, for the little good it does. The man standing before you bends over so that he’s meeting you at eye level, and he looks ever so much like the cat that ate the canary.

“Oh, but we do,” he admonishes. “I fear that I left you in a rather poor state of mind after our…  _ activities _ .”

He’s managed to get under your skin now, and he knows it. His close proximity and his doggedness to remind you that  _ you had sex with him _ have managed to kindle a throbbing ache in your nether regions, and you’re clutching the pillow you hold to your lap like a teenage boy trying to hide an erection.

Enticed by this little game he plays with you, Emet-Selch leans further in and braces his palms against your mattress on either side of your hips, allowing him to edge even closer into your personal space. Your cheeks are probably as red as a Dzemael tomato, but you force yourself to straighten your spine and  _ not _ shrink away from him, even though your noses are practically brushing and he’s watching you through half-lidded eyes. 

“It was  _ you _ who proclaimed that there would be no attachments, but the way that you clung to me so sweetly begs my concern. Do tell me that I haven’t given you the wrong idea--”

You place your hands against his shoulders and  _ shove _ him backwards, but the Ascian easily regains his balance. He still regards you with a smug look. You’re playing right into his hands and it wounds your ego. You are determined to steal back some of the power in this situation.

“As much as you insist on physical contact, I should think that you’re the one with the affliction,” you assert. 

Tossing the pillow aside you rise from the bed, taking several tentative steps toward your foe. Continue to give him leeway and you fear that he will  _ escalate _ the situation. If the growing ache in your sex is any indication, it would serve you well to nip this in the bud before he can gain the upper hand again.

“I’m not entirely without compassion, Emet-Selch. I’ll grant you this one favor, and then I  _ insist _ that you be on your way.”

He arches an eyebrow but seems content to go along with your charade, for now. You approach him steadily and lay a palm flat against his chest, pushing him backward. He is gracious enough to follow your lead, until you have backed him toward a rather lackluster chair.

“Sit,” you command. He exhales in amusement but does as you ask. You somewhat expect him to complain about the rather simple furniture, but he’ll have to deal with it.

You place your hands between his knees and spread his legs apart, granting you space to kneel between them. You can’t believe what you’re about to do, but it’s comparatively less of a disaster than letting him have you beneath him again.

His damned skirts are going to be a problem. It would be so much easier to ask him to do something about them, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of your frustration. You look over them before determinedly grabbing at fistfuls of fabric and simply bunching the material up around his hips. 

“I suppose that’s one way to handle it,” he muses.

“Shut up,” you mutter back, your fingers going to the fastenings at the front of his trousers. If you had any doubts about his intentions before they are long gone now, as he is clearly hard and straining against the confines of his pants. 

His larger hands cover yours and pry your fingers away, but he is clearly amused by your efforts. 

“Allow me,” he offers, easily loosening the opening and freeing himself.

You’re irritated at his ability to maintain his composure -- you’re supposed to be seducing him, after all -- but the sharp breath he exhales tells you that he isn’t as unaffected as he would have you believe.

Emet-Selch looks ridiculous with his elaborate skirts hiked up around his waist, erection standing proudly from his trousers. You would gladly comment on the sight just to bruise his ego, but you know that he simply doesn’t care.

That leaves you with your self-appointed task. You swallow thickly as you actually pause to regard his…  _ generous _ endowment. You’re not exactly a novice at this, but you know your limitations. You’ll simply have to be creative.

In what you  _ hope _ is a sultry gaze, you peer up at Emet-Selch through your eyelashes and settle into a comfortable position between his knees before wrapping your dominant hand around his length. He puffs out a soft breath at your touch, and you continue to hold eye contact as you lower your head to take him into your mouth.

He groans softly as you stroke down his shaft, following your hand with the wet warmth of your mouth. Swallowing him toward the back of your throat you can feel just where your gag reflex begins to trigger, and you choose to play it safe. You draw back and let him slide from between your lips with a lewd wet pop, palming along the side of his length and chasing it down with the flat of your tongue. You run your lips along the heated flesh, kissing and licking as you bring your palm to rub over the head, followed by several experimental pumps of his shaft. Smoothing on the downstroke, applying a slight pressure as you drag your hand back up, gently running your thumb along the underside of him. 

Satisfied that you’ve established enough lubrication to keep from chafing him, you wrap your lips around his tip and suck deeply, swirl your tongue around him before bobbing your head down, then back up, hollowing out your cheeks as you drag your lips along his length.

As you continue to service the Ascian you begin to wonder if he’s actually enjoying this. You’re not entirely confident in this area of expertise, wish he would give you some sort of feedback. You suck over the tip and let him slide from your lips again, breathing hotly across his head as you lift your gaze up to his face again.

Emet-Selch’s mouth is open slightly and his breath comes in soft pants. He smirks at you just slightly, and he is clearly ridiculously pleased at the sight of you orally pleasuring him. His voice is husky when he speaks.

“Keep going,” he murmurs, and something about the way he looks at you worsens the throbbing ache between your legs.

You envelop his cock in your mouth once more, but you have half a mind to drag him bodily to the floor and spear yourself on him instead. A deep moan rumbles up from your throat as you bob your head along his length, pumping him behind your mouth, trying to remember the feeling of him filling you so completely as you slide your free hand beneath your own short skirt.

You’re not surprised to find that your smallclothes are soaked as you stroke your sex through the thin garment, and you moan around Emet-Selch again in frustration as you struggle to relieve the tension between your thighs.

One of his hands comes to rest against the back of your head, but it’s not to dictate your movements. He strokes his fingers along your scalp, runs them through your hair, content to let you continue at your own pace.

“You’re so beautiful, kneeling before me like this,” Emet-Selch utters. “My sweet warrior.”

Your mind is clouded with the thought of how  _ desperately _ you want to feel him inside of you, but you know it would be just your luck that  _ Thancred _ of all people would burst in unannounced and find you fucking the Garlean Emperor into the floorboards. 

Finding your own release is proving to be a fruitless effort, your movements too clumsy and uncoordinated considering that your dominant hand is busy with the Ascian. You finally give up on it and instead bring your hand up to cup his balls, gently stroking at the sensitive skin there.

Emet-Selch sputters above you, and you know that he’s close. You’re now determined to bring him to completion so that you can do something about yourself.

You suck just a bit harder, tighten your hand around his shaft a bit more firmly, and it’s not long before he’s panting in labored breaths.

“Oh darling,” he moans, “I’m going to come. And you’re going to swallow everything that I give you.”

It’s the only warning you get before Emet-Selch makes a strangled sound and his cock twitches against your tongue, cum quickly filling your mouth. You swallow reflexively, then again, feeling the warm liquid slide down your throat. When you’re sure that he’s finished you finally let him slide from your lips, licking him clean before rocking back on your ankles. 

You look up and find him gazing back at you with a certain intensity, his chest heaving as he recovers his breath. He’s thinking, and you’re not sure what he has planned, but in your own lust-addled mind you decide that you want every part of it.

He’s reaching for you when you’re jarred from your stupor by a loud knock at your door. You’re not entirely certain of the hour but you’re not expecting any visitors, and you think  _ Oh Hydaelyn, it’s Thancred, he’s shown up after all _ .

But it’s not Thancred’s voice that calls your name through the thick wooden door. It’s the Exarch.

“Are you in?” he calls. “I’m terribly sorry to disturb you, but I missed you at supper and wished to check on you.”

You look rather pointedly at Emet-Selch and realize that he isn’t the only one who listened in on your earlier conversation with Y’shtola.

“Just a moment!” you call back, then anxiously grip the Ascian by the shoulders and give him a shake.

“You need to leave!” you hiss under your breath. 

You dash over to the mirror as quietly as you can and make sure that there’s nothing on your face, and when you turn back around you find that Emet-Selch has vanished without a word. 

A silent prayer is uttered to Hydaelyn for that reprieve, but then another thought occurs to you and you quickly check the corners of the room to ascertain that you won’t find a shell-shocked Ardbert standing there.

You straighten your clothes out and finally dart across the room to open the door, just enough for the Exarch to see you. While you can’t really see his face beneath the hood, he smiles reassuringly at you and presents you with another basket of his sandwiches.

“I thought that you might not have eaten,” he says, wringing his hands as he sways his balance from foot to foot. 

You open your mouth to say something, but all that really comes out is a simple thanks. 

It takes a moment, but you assure the Exarch that you’re fine, if not a bit tired, and you’ll see him in the morning after you’ve rested. You thank him again for the sandwiches and send him on his way.

Once your door is shut and locked tight again, you plod towards the table in your room to set the basket down. Your eyes sweep over the room, and when you are reassured that you are well and truly alone, you grasp at fistfuls of your own hair and wonder what you’ve done.

The throbbing at your core has barely abated and your smallclothes are uncomfortably wet, but the actual sensation of your arousal had drained out of you the moment that the Exarch came knocking.

Heaving a deep sigh you decide that a cool bath is needed, and then you can try to sleep off your conflicted feelings. Your mouth feels dry and you swallow, trying to rid yourself of the taste of Emet-Selch’s release. The salt lingers on your tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't expecting to write another chapter, but here it is. There will probably be at least one more. I didn't do very well at establishing it in the first chapter, and probably not here either, but Emet-Selch is definitely playing a game of manipulation.
> 
> If you are a writer and/or enjoy FFXIV fics, come join a very friendly and enabling group: https://discord.gg/ftFnYbe
> 
> Find me on Twitter: @AzureSummoner


	3. Villain (EX)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Warrior of Light deals with her conflicted feelings, while Emet-Selch feels ignored.

The Exarch knows you’re distressed and now he refuses to leave. You let him see you in a moment of weakness, your emotions raw from dealing with the Ascian not five minutes ago. Whatever vulnerability you’ve displayed has ignited some primal instinct in the man who now hovers before you like a protective mate. This will only end in one way, but if you’re honest, your mind was already made up when the door to your room shut behind him.

“What troubles you my Warrior?” he queries so tenderly. He strokes a thumb along your cheek, combs his fingers through the hair at your temple. You aren’t looking for a shoulder to cry on. You may as well cut to the chase.

“Do you want me?” you ask. There’s a pause as the question hangs in the air, then his guttural growl gives you the only confirmation that you need.

The Exarch leans in and you try to stop him, but he seizes your wrists and drags you up against him as his lips descends on yours. His tongue is in your mouth, a pause, and when he pulls away you  _ know _ that he’s tasted the salt there. 

His eyes are hidden beneath the cowl but it’s evident that he’s studying, really  _ studying _ your face, and suddenly his hand is between your thighs. He strokes your wetness, tearing a gasp from your throat.

The Exarch parts his lips to say something, but you don’t want to hear his sympathy, or his judgement, whichever the case may be.

“Look, either fuck me, or get out,” you hiss.

He immediately reaches around to grip you by the ass and lift you up so that you’re forced to wrap your legs around his waist, your arms around his neck. 

“You should have come to me first,” he breathes hotly against your ear while carrying you toward the bed. You yelp when his teeth sink into your shoulder. It’s definitely going to leave a mark.

The Exarch drops you unceremoniously onto your back and you bounce against the mattress before he grabs you by the hips, dragging your ass closer to the edge. He pushes your short skirt up around your waist before his crystal hand smooths across the flat of your stomach and dips under your smallclothes, and you groan as you feel two smooth fingers push into your entrance.

Your arousal is burning out of control as he pumps his fingers in and out of your slick, curling the tips to stroke against that spot which leaves you panting wantonly into your bedsheets. He suddenly withdraws, eliciting a disappointed whine from you, but when you glance up he seems pleased that the fluids coating his fingers run clear and not milky. 

“At least you didn’t let him fuck you,” the Exarch mutters smugly. 

He hitches his robes up to access the tight black shorts that hug his hips and you watch, mesmerized, when he slides them down his thighs. His erection bobs free and you lick your lips, ignoring your slight disappointment that it isn’t made of crystal.

“What man could be cruel enough to leave you like this?” he murmurs, knowing that of course you won’t tell him. 

You spread your legs apart as the Exarch leans over you, groaning when he slides the fabric of your smallclothes to one side and guides his tip between your labia.

“I’ll make you forget about him,” he promises, even while he pushes into you in one smooth stroke.

You gasp at the sensation of being filled so quickly and the Exarch takes full advantage, sliding his slick-soaked fingers into your mouth. Despite your whines he slides the cool crystal across your tongue, forcing you to taste yourself.

“Suck them,” he commands, drawing his hips back before pushing firmly into you again. With a moan you give up your struggle and begin to obey, swirling your tongue along his crystal fingers. 

“Right, that’s my good girl,” he soothes at you. “Forget how he tastes. Forget all about him. You’re going to come to me from now on.” 

The Exarch begins to move his hips with deliberation, pulling back almost to the tip and then pushing into you as deep as he can go. When he’s satisfied that you’ve adjusted to his penetration he finds his rhythm, alternating between quick shallow thrusts, and deep long strokes. 

You moan around his fingers and at last he lets them slide from your mouth, moving his hand to push your shirt up over your chest. He snorts his disapproval at the bindings holding you in place, but an insistent tug fixes that. Your breasts spring free from their confinement, the generous curves bouncing in time with the Exarch’s thrusts.

“Yes… let me see all of you,” he pants. “So beautiful.”

Blushing under his praise, you look down to where your bodies are joined and are somewhat disappointed to see that his robes are blocking the view. Still, you can  _ feel _ everything that he’s doing, and you drop your head back into the mattress while twisting your hands into the sheets.

“You feel so good, Exarch,” you moan out, and reach up for him. He catches you by the wrist and pushes your hand back down onto the bed.

“Relax,” he breathes, and he moves his hand down to stroke at your clit.

The sensation of having your arousal touched after being denied for so long sends a jolt down your spine, your back arching off the bed. 

“ _ Twelve _ ,” you gasp, and it’s not long before you feel yourself nearing your peak.

“Yes my Warrior,” the Exarch hisses above you, “go on. I want to feel you come on my cock.”

“I’m… yes… I’m going to…” you pant, and then you’re crying out as you fall over the edge.

Seeing you come undone has quite an effect on the robed man above you. He braces his hands to either side of you and leans over your body, his speed increasing as he chases his own finish. You can tell that he’s close.

“My champion…” he groans, “so lovely. Wanted this for so long…”

He comes with a growl, spilling himself into you as deeply as he can, and you feel your mingled fluids leak from where you are joined.

It’s a long moment before he finally withdraws, leaving you panting on the bed while he fixes his clothing. When he looks back at you he’s wearing a most satisfied grin.

“What a mess,” the Exarch hums as he reaches between your thighs, parting your folds. “You’re dripping with my seed. You’re  _ mine _ , now.”

Your mind spins in your post-coital haze, and all you can think is  _ Emet-Selch, you bastard, I hope you’ve been watching... _

Ardbert is staring at you in horror. You bolt upright as if someone has dumped a bucket of ice water over your head, and the Exarch backs away from you in confusion.

Your brain is scrambled and you’re searching for something to say when Ardbert opens his mouth, opens it impossibly wide, and he begins to scream.

The sound assaults your senses. You cover your ears, trying to block it out, but it’s piercing your skull and now you’re shouting for him to stop but the screams are no longer coming from Ardbert, they’re from somewhere outside and…

You wake with a start because someone  _ is _ screaming. Springing from bed you command a familiar aether to wash over you, leaving you in your Summoner’s clothes as you snag your grimoire from its resting place and bolt for the door.

The Crystarium is under attack.

\-----------------------

It’s a hard fought battle, but you and your allies have driven off Vauthry’s army of Sin Eaters. 

Still, the day is not won without heavy losses. The infirmaries are filled with the wounded, while the less injured Crystarium guards and civilian volunteers collect the dead. As the Warrior of Light you have witnessed terrible devastation on many occasions, but you’re not sure that your heart has ached so  _ badly _ since Baelsar’s Wall.

After helping as much as you are able, you find the Scions gathered in the Ocular along with the Crystal Exarch. You barely notice the Ascian’s absence, but are grateful for the small blessing.

It’s decided that you must hasten your pursuit of the Light Wardens, but your group is at a loss for where to start. There is one hope: to seek out the Oracle of Light.

It is a heated debate that leaves you with a hollow feeling in your chest, even as the Light boils within you, but you know that no one is as conflicted as Thancred. Minfilia has made up her mind and driven the man into a brooding silence.

With nothing left to say the Scions begin to depart, one by one. Your eyes follow the gunbreaker, noting the way he struggles to keep his shoulders squared, and you wish you could say something,  _ anything _ to comfort him. Instead, you watch him disappear through the doors.

“Is aught amiss, my friend?” the Exarch asks. It breaks you from your thoughts, and you realize that you’ve lingered too long. The two of you are alone in the Ocular.

A deep shame washes over you despite the flush creeping into your cheeks, as the positively sinful images from your dream come rushing back. The Exarch is clearly concerned now and you are too late to react before he presses the back of his crystal hand to your forehead.

“You appear feverish. Are you ill?” 

“I…” You swallow to quell the growing lump in your throat and take a hasty step back. “So much has happened today. I think I just need some rest.”

His lips curl downwards in a small frown, and it seems he’s not content to let you off the hook so easily.

“Will you call upon me if you need anything?” he asks, and you startle as he rests his hand upon your shoulder. “ _ Anything _ .”

His touch nearly breaks you. These last few days have taken such a toll on your mental health. Between Emet-Selch’s games and your duties as the Warrior of Light and Darkness your emotions are a complete wreck, and by Hydaelyn, you are desperate for some form of comfort. 

You’re fairly certain it’s not just your imagination when the Exarch offers you  _ anything _ . His adoration for you is clear, and while you don’t understand where it stems from (given that you haven’t been on the First for  _ that _ long), you’ve always had your suspicions that it goes beyond the reverence of a hero. Could he soothe the ache in your heart, give you the reassurance that you need?

“Of course,” you lie. You need to put some distance between you.

The Exarch’s touch lingers a moment too long, and you shiver when he releases your shoulder only to ghost his fingers along the length of your arm as his hand returns to his side.

Remaining any longer would be dangerous, so you quickly turn your back on him and exit the Ocular, now wanting only to reach your room in the Pendants and collapse into a dreamless sleep.

\----------

It’s several hours later when you awaken. 

Ardbert had been waiting for you upon your arrival, and until you laid eyes on him you hadn’t realized how much his company served to soothe you. Maybe it was the shared commiseration of a kindred soul, someone who could truly understand your feelings. You close your eyes and wonder where he is now, thankful for the chance to see him again.

Now your eyes settle on your grimoire where it rests upon the table. Damaged, at some point during the earlier attack. You cannot carry it into battle with you until it is repaired, and while you could deliver it to one of the menders, you would rather do the job yourself. It might take your mind off of things for a while.

After a bath and a change of clothes you set out for the markets to gather the materials you’ll need. While not as crowded as usual, there are still civilians and merchants bustling about. The Exarch had spoken true when he’d told you about his people’s resilience, and it’s a small comfort to see their determination to carry on.

_ For those we have lost. For those we can yet save. _

Your mind wanders back to Thancred and you wonder how he’s faring. You consider paying him a visit when you’ve concluded your business here, perhaps invite him out for a drink. It might do you both some good.

Then you glance across the marketplace and, with widening eyes, find Emet-Selch looking back at you. 

Not right now. You hold his gaze for only a brief moment before taking off into the crowd. It’s pretending at best if you think he’ll take the hint, but it’s about the only recourse you have. Dramatic as he is, you’re confident that he won’t want to make a scene in the middle of the Crystarium. 

It occurs to you, with a slight bitterness, that you could take this opportunity to call upon the Exarch. The Ascian would be forced to remain civil in the company of others, but on the other hand, he might choose to regale the Exarch with tales of your  _ exploits _ for the sake of backing you into a corner.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, knowing that you need to deal with this sooner, rather than later. Let the dice fall where they will. You can’t take back what you’ve already done, but you can stop it from going further.

He’ll come to you in the Pendants later, you know it for fact. You’ve bought yourself a little time to consider what you’ll say, what you’ll do if he refuses to stop. It may come down to you confiding in the Scions. You don’t want to imagine their disappointment, especially the twins, but they are your  _ friends _ . And if you’re honest, it’s only a matter of time before your little secret comes out anyway. 

You belatedly realize your fatal mistake as you turn onto on an empty side street. Even as you try to double back you are caught between the shoulder blades and given a swift shove forward, sending you further into isolation.

“Now what has the famed  _ Ascian-slayer _ running like a timid rabbit?” Emet-Selch purrs. “Are you attempting to avoid me?”

You turn to face the man blocking your path, and of course he’s wearing that smug grin that grates you so much. It seems you will need to deal with him sooner than expected.

“This has to stop,” you demand, and you gesture at him in your frustration. “I’m not going to be your plaything.” 

Emet-Selch regards you a moment, his expression shifting to -- feigned, you’re certain -- perplexment. 

“Is that what you think this is?” 

“Don’t bluff, Ascian,” you grumble. “You’ve had your fun, but it’s over now. Or do I need to remind you that we’re not exactly friends? Now, begone.”

In an act of finality you turn your back on him, prepared to walk away. Your performance has been rather lackluster, if you do say so yourself, but you hope it will do.

It does not, you realize, as you feel the warmth of the Ascian at your back.

“I believe you’ve mistaken my intentions, hero,” he whispers harshly against your ear. “But if you insist on making me your villain, you’d better expect for me to play the part.” 

There’s an underlying current of danger in his tone and you whirl yourself around to face him, quickly stepping backwards to try and put some distance between you, but he won’t allow it. Emet-Selch is upon you in an instant. Without a weapon at your side you instinctively raise your fists in front of you but he’s faster, easily grabbing your wrists in one of his hands.

“Don’t be fooled, Warrior,” he chuckles darkly, towering over you. He’s looking down his nose at you with a haughty expression, and as much as you want to hate him for it, it sends a thrill of excitement straight through your core.

“I was a Legatus before I was an Emperor,” he reminds you, “and at the very least I am an able-bodied man. Overpowering you like this is a trivial feat.”

You bare your teeth and hiss at him, attempt to wrench your wrists from his grip but he holds fast. You are the gods-damned  _ Warrior of Light _ , and you wouldn’t soon have him forget that, but with your back pressed against the wall and your wrists so thoroughly pinned he is indeed making it difficult for you to assert yourself.

Some of the arrogance bleeds from Emet-Selch’s expression but it does nothing to assuage the alarm that courses through you. His eyes are full of unbridled lust. In a well-oiled motion he pulls the sash from his shoulders and loops it around your wrists several times, pulling the fabric taut to leave you without any slack. He knots the ends to his satisfaction and sighs appreciatively at his work, only then releasing his grip on you, letting you test your bonds. You struggle against the silken material but you both know it’s a wasted effort. He has you right where he wants you.

He inclines his head toward your neck and you growl, but there’s no room to maneuver away from him. Emet-Selch’s breath is hot against you when he laughs, low and sultry, and he nips at your earlobe.

“If it becomes too much for you, my love, just say ‘ _ red _ ’.”

Butterflies rise in your stomach at the unexpected term of endearment, but you are simultaneously shaken by the implication behind his words.

You’re struggling to respond when not-so-distant voices reach your ears, along with the tell-tale clattering of armored boots and chainmail. Crystarium guards, making their rounds most likely.

Emet-Selch straightens up and glances over his shoulder, narrowing his eyes in the direction of your unwelcome guests. He’s been careful to maintain the facade of camaraderie with your group, whatever his intentions may be. You expect that being caught like this, with you as his bound captive, would quickly sour those relations and muddle his schemes. He’s going to have to let you go.

Instead, he grabs you by the shoulders and gives you a measured look. 

“What are you doing?” you ask. His answer sends shivers down your spine. 

“Abducting you,” he states, plain as day, and forces your chin up to make sure you acknowledge his stern expression. “If you even  _ think _ to scream I will not hesitate to gag that pretty little mouth of yours.” 

You still make a strangled cry as Emet-Selch easily tosses you over his shoulder, dread coursing through your veins when you realize that the voices have stopped. The Ascian stills to  _ listen _ for a moment, and alarm seizes you at the very real possibility that he will murder any would-be rescuers. No safe-word will stop him then.

“Don’t… please,” you beg, and you are humiliated by the slight tremor in your hushed voice.

The footsteps have resumed and they are clearly headed in your direction. By Hydaelyn, you are a fool. If you had simply repaired your grimoire earlier instead of  _ sleeping _ you would have had it with you now, but instead you have allowed Emet-Selch to put you in this position and innocent people will pay for your stupidity.

Emet-Selch tightens his grip on you to hold you still, but by some blessing, your plea hasn’t fallen on deaf ears. 

“Very well, hero.” 

You hear him snap and look over your shoulder to see that he has summoned one of his portals. Adrenaline and fresh panic surge in your chest as he carries you off into the dark aether, and by the time the Crystarium guards arrive there is no trace that you were ever there.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this is still going. OTL
> 
> We're probably heading for some dark places. No ragrets. >_>;;
> 
> If you are a writer and/or enjoy FFXIV fics, come join a very friendly and enabling group: https://discord.gg/ftFnYbe
> 
> Find me on Twitter: @AzureSummoner


	4. Attraction (EX)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The WoL continues to make poor life choices. Emet-Selch is ridiculously pleased

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please mind the warnings. A reminder that the relationship depicted in this work of fiction is NOT HEALTHY. If you should ever find yourself being manipulated by a partner, please get out.

Emet-Selch’s teeth are at your throat as you lay pinned beneath him. He’s brought you back to that bedroom,  _ His _ , you assume. You haven’t given much thought to where the man spends his time when he’s not pestering the Scions, but it makes sense that His Eminence has a private retreat. It wouldn’t do for him to be caught sleeping in the woods like some sort of  _ savage _ .

“We can’t do this,” you mumble. You’re trying to convince yourself more than anyone. 

A harsh nip near your shoulder tears a yelp from you, and you twist your fingers more tightly into Emet-Selch’s shirt. It’s hard to do much else with your hands tied as they are.

“Don’t be coy,” he hisses before laving his tongue over your bruising skin. “Or do you think I hadn’t noticed the way you practically  _ begged _ me to fuck you, last night?”

His harsh words are kindling on the fire in your stomach, but you force yourself to clamp down on your desire. When you fail to respond he ruts his hardness between your legs, and that manages to coax a moan from you.

Emet-Selch draws back until his lips are hovering over yours, his hand gripping your jaw to hold you steady as he watches you through half-lidded eyes.

“You’ve made it quite clear that you wish to be mine,” he purrs, tugging at your lower lip with his teeth. “And I would have you, my precious hero, but know this--”

You gasp as your arms are forcibly pinned above your head, and the Ascian is looking upon you in a most alarming manner.

“It is for keeps, and I will stake my claim most thoroughly.” 

Your cries of protest die in your throat as his mouth claims yours, and struggle as you may, you haven’t the leverage to dislodge his body weight from above you. Emet-Selch’s hand smooths across your neck and over your breasts, down the flat of your stomach, along your inner thigh. He plants hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck as his fingers trail back up to your apex and slide across the thin cloth that won’t protect you from him for long.

There is an ache in your chest that you cannot explain, but it is similar to the strange warmth which seized you on that first night while he held you so tenderly. It is a strange, nostalgic longing for a man whom you barely know, and an  _ Ascian _ besides. While you cannot know where this feeling stems from, you know that you don’t want what he’s doing to you now. You also know, somehow, that it’s not what he really wants, either. And if you don’t do something to stop him, you will both be left to deal with the regrets that follow.

“Emet-Selch,  _ stop _ ,” you plead, but he does not. He’s sliding his hand beneath your smallclothes, preparing to escalate his passions as your mind finally snaps back to alertness and you gasp out, “ _ red _ !”

The man above you stills, and for a long moment he simply lingers in place. Your shallow breathing is leveling out when he finally lifts himself from above you and sits upright, pulling you along with him. 

You’re not sure how to read the look in his eyes, but he’s almost like a man who has been released from a spell. He slides off of the bed, leaving you sitting there, and falls backwards into the plush chair behind himself.

“Whatever am I to do with you, hero?” he sighs, and with a snap of his fingers the bindings around your wrists loosen.

Your thoughts are spinning as you struggle to process what’s just taken place, the things that Emet-Selch has said to you. In the periphery of your vision the Ascian appears utterly dejected. You try to account for your actions these last few days. Have you really been leading him on? 

You don’t know how long you’ve been staring at the silk that’s puddled into your lap, but eventually Emet-Selch breaks the silence.

“I suppose you wish to be returned to your Scions. You have only to say the word,” he says, and he sounds so terribly tired. “There’s no point in dawdling, it’s as you’ve said -- this simply cannot continue.”

Another tense silence stretches out between you. All you need do is ask the Ascian to take you away, and if the resignation in his tone has been any clue, he will end his pursuit of you. So why do your words fail you? Isn’t this what you wanted?

Emet-Selch is waiting for your reply.

“I don’t... want to leave,” you finally admit. It’s so quiet that you aren’t sure he’s heard you, until you muster enough courage to look at the man and see that he’s looking back at you. His eyes are so full of hope and your arms feel so empty, it’s taking every onze of your self-control to not fling yourself across the distance between you and wrap him in your embrace.

“Why?” he asks. “What could possibly have changed your mind?”

“I didn’t change my mind. I just… wasn’t being honest with myself,” you confess.

You stretch your hand out to Emet-Selch in invitation. At first he only looks at you, then slowly rises from the chair and crosses the distance to stand before you, and you guide him down to sit beside you.

Holding one of his larger hands between both of yours, your words begin to spill forth.

“Ever since you came to me on that first night I’ve been…  _ taken _ … with a most strange attraction to you,” you say, and Emet-Selch intertwines his fingers with yours.

“It makes no sense, but I feel like… like I’ve known you for a very long time.”

He brings his free hand to your chin, tilts your gaze up to his, and strokes his thumb soothingly along your jaw.

“I know it’s wrong. I’m the Warrior of Light, and you are an Ascian. You’ve done many terrible things, and scheme to do even worse. I should hate you.”

“Do you  _ want _ to hate me?” Emet-Selch asks, inclining his lips toward yours.

You do not hesitate in your answer.

  
“No,” you whisper, and it is  _ you _ who presses your lips to  _ his _ , kissing him as though you are desperate to steal the air from his lungs. 

A nagging thought berates you, tries to remind you that your duty is to Hydaelyn, that you are a champion of Her people and should forego your own desires to carry out Her will.

Hydaelyn be damned. You force that thought to the back of your mind, lock it away. The Ascian’s touch is a balm to the ache in your soul, and you are desperate for more.

You wrap your arms around his neck, run your fingers through his hair as you continue to kiss him for all he’s worth, but eventually you are forced to come up for air. Tracing your hands along the firm musculature beneath Emet-Selch’s shirt you nuzzle your head under his chin while panting softly, never seeing the sinister smirk, the complete  _ satisfaction _ that plays upon his lips as he rubs his hands along your back.

“Forgive me for vexing you so, my darling,” he soothes, reaching up to stroke your hair, to tilt your head back allowing him to place a sweet kiss upon your lips. “I couldn’t bear the thought of you sending me away. I fear I let my despair consume me.”

Despair, at losing you? Considering how thoroughly you are derailing his plans for the Rejoining, the idea is beyond your comprehension. Yet, you yourself are plagued by a deep-rooted desire to be near him, to be near the man who by all means should be,  _ and may yet be _ , organizing your destruction. There’s something he isn’t telling you, but whether you can coax it from him remains to be seen. 

“You are an enigma, Emet-Selch,” you say, meeting his golden eyes. “Why do you pursue me? What could possibly attract you so to one of Hydaelyn’s chosen?”

“Oh, hero,” he chides. “Why would I not fight for you? You cannot imagine how brightly your soul burns.”

“You’re not making any sense,” you mutter.

“And you are not asking the right questions,” he retorts. 

You part your lips to bite off another question, but your brain has caught up to your mouth and nothing comes out. What can you ask him that will give you the answers you want?

“Don’t look at me so,” he sighs. “You are not ready to bear the burden that I would lay at your feet, and moreso, you wouldn’t believe me besides.”

When you scowl at the man he cradles your face between his hands and strokes his thumbs along your temples, as if to assuage your irritation.

“Some journeys are meant to be traveled alone, hero,” he tells you, and it seems that you will pry nothing more from him tonight. 

Emet-Selch takes to combing his fingers through your hair, and you are briefly comforted by his attempt to placate you. You close your eyes and lean into the hand still cradling your face, trying for one insignificant moment to pretend that you aren’t dallying with an Ascian. You are briefly swept up in nostalgia for a time before you were the Warrior of Light, when you were a simple adventurer unknown among the crowds in Limsa Lominsa. You can’t help but frown when the man before you speaks and breaks you out of your reverie.

“So, what will it be?” he asks gently. “Shall I return you to your rooms?”

For the second time this night he has offered you an out, but you already know that you don’t want it. 

“Not just yet,” you murmur, lazily rolling your eyes up to meet his. 

“Once I leave this room I will return to being the Warrior of Light,” you tell him. “I will see the people of the Crystarium and the pain in their faces, and know that I could have saved more. I will lay awake and worry over this light that seethes within me, knowing what I might become.”

You wiggle out of Emet-Selch’s embrace as you find your resolve, bracing your hands on his shoulders and guiding him back.

“Most of all,” you continue, “I will worry for my friends, for if I fall, who will be left to protect them?”

He follows your lead, crawling backwards until he is reclined against the headboard, and you follow after him to straddle his hips.

“Let me forget,” you plead with him, “just for this one night.” 

"You're sure this is what you want?" he asks, and you immediately crush your mouth to his, threatening to shove your tongue down his throat. 

You drink up his choked cry of surprise and grip fistfuls of his silken hair when he tries to fight you for control, forcing his head back as you release his mouth with a wanton inhaling of breath. Mirroring Emet-Selch's earlier actions you nip at his exposed neck, teasing a hiss from above. 

"My, my," he exhales in a breathy chuckle, his hands sliding up your thighs to settle low on your hips. "The warrior has teeth."

"Thank yourself for that, Ascian," you growl against his jaw. "It's your fault for leaving me  _ unresolved _ last night."

"There, you see?" he laughs. "I wasn't wrong about you wanting to-- _ fuck _ !"

You grind your sex against the growing hardness in his pants to shut him up, though expletives coming from the lips of the cultured  _ Solus zos Galvus  _ never fail to surprise -- or be hilarious -- to you. 

He watches you with mounting desire when you lean back, and you are forced to pry his hands away as he refuses to release his hold on you easily. But getting what you want necessitates the departure, and you relish in the hint of disappointment that crosses his face when you slide off of his lap.

"Do something about  _ these _ ," you command, flipping up a handful of his elaborate skirts.

"You deign to order  _ me _ ?" he asks, in mock offense. "When you could simply crawl up my skirts as before?"

He appears ready to break out in riotous laughter, and your cheeks flush as you recall the utter absurdity that was you, on your knees, hiking up the skirts of the Garlean Emperor to get at the royal jewels.

To your merit, you collect yourself enough to shoot him a cross look that suggests a swift end to your activities if he does not comply. 

"Oh  _ alright _ , hero," he huffs dramatically, and you are caught unaware by a sudden chill as he  _ snaps _ and deftly rids you of your clothing. 

" _ Emet-Selch _ !" you sputter, reflexively crossing your arms to hide your naked breasts. "I will  _ end _ you!"

His eyes are full of absolute mirth and there is a sudden ache in your chest, a swelling  _ joy _ given rise by the banter between you. Your heart flutters at the playful smile on his lips, and you think, however oddly, that you could die happily in this singular moment. 

Here lies the Warrior of Light. She died naked and kneeling before the Founding Father of Garlemald.

"My poor Warrior," the Ascian teases. "Enduring ever so much. I suppose I shall take pity upon you."

He snaps again and his clothing melts away into dark aether, leaving him bared before you. Propped back against the headboard, thighs slightly spread, provocative smirk, he is the very picture of sin and you think that he is  _ gorgeous _ .

You crawl on hand and knee until you lay between his legs, flicking your tongue out to tease his hardening shaft. Emet-Selch hums softly above you and he reaches down to stroke your cheek, to trail his long fingers through your hair while he watches. 

Wetness pools between your thighs as you take him into your mouth, bracing your palms against his thighs as you take him as deep as you dare. You're able to hold him only a moment against the back of your throat before you begin to gag, and you draw back, running your tongue along his length in a broad, wet stroke.

Your goal right now isn't to learn how to deep throat the Ascian. There will be other nights for that. Right now you simply need him hard enough to fill you. 

It doesn't take long. You know he's wanted this since he took you from the alleyway, and as long as you're being honest with yourself, it's possible that you want it even more.

Emet-Selch watches you with dark and needy eyes when you slide your mouth off of him, kiss his tip, and begin to crawl your way back up to his lap. You stroke your hands over his muscled chest and position yourself to straddle his hips once more, this time without any barriers. 

He moans when you reach between your legs to take him in your hand, guiding the head of his shaft between your slick folds. You tease him, rocking your hips to slide him along your slit, pausing to let him feel your entrance. 

You push his limits further by pressing down to take him in only by the tip, then letting him slide back out, and then in and out again. 

His thighs twitch between your legs and his fingers are digging into the flesh of your hips. Having Emet-Selch at your mercy like this is delicious, but knowing that you can  _ finally have _ what had been denied to you the night before is wearing your own patience thin. You're already close to climax just from this, and when you decide to end his misery you know you won't last long yourself. 

"Well aren't you a little cocktease," he huffs, a light flush painting his cheeks. 

You simply grin, closing your eyes and letting your head loll back, reveling in the feeling of being the one to frustrate  _ him _ for a change. To think that this man, this ancient paragon who commands terrifying power should desire  _ you _ , should be held whim to your mercy.

The ancient paragon takes advantage of your distraction to snake his fingers between your legs, stroking at your swollen clit. You jolt upright with a strangled cry, wide-eyed, and nearly spear yourself on him then and there.

Emet-Selch wears a wicked grin as he watches you squirm, thinks he’s turned the tables on you, and briefly yes, you consider simply giving in to your desire. Then a most indecent idea comes to mind and you realize that you can take what you want while making him suffer still. 

You half-lid your eyes and bite your bottom lip demurely while tracing your hands up the Ascian’s chest, up to rest on his shoulders, and then you slowly,  _ slowly _ begin to sink down on his length. He hisses at your deliberation and you can feel his cock twitching inside of you as you take him to his hilt. You keep going until you sit flush against his hips, grinding your arousal against him, and you  _ flex _ your inner walls to tear a groan from his throat.

“By Zodiark…” he growls, but you’re only getting started, and you lean in to suck at his lower lip as a promise of things to come.

You sigh and wiggle your hips, testing your adjustment to the girth that stretches you in the most divine way. Relish in the sensation of being so filled. You would be content to remain like this, if not for the arousal burning at your core.

Finally you rise, slow, letting yourself feel every ilm of him that slips from your body. It leaves you feeling empty, unsatisfied, so you slide back down to meet his hips again, delighting in the way he fills you once more. 

Emet-Selch’s hands come back to your hips as you find your pace, lifting yourself only to crash back down. You accentuate every downward stroke by rolling your hips into his, desperate for the friction against your throbbing clit, fighting the urge to touch yourself because you know if you do, you will come undone.

The Ascian’s breaths come in soft pants as you begin to ride him in earnest, you bracing your hands against his thighs, him squeezing your ass while one hand reaches back to grip the headboard. 

You know that you’re fighting a losing battle as your breaths become more shallow. The sight of Emet-Selch reclined just so and grasping for some semblance of composure is quickly unraveling you. At last he loses control and  _ bucks _ his hips up into yours, stroking inside of you along just the right spot to send you soaring. You cry out unintelligibly and your knees wobble as your pleasure washes over you. You feel boneless, and you collapse against his chest.

Emet-Selch hums above you, smoothing a hand down the length of your hair.

“Oh darling,” he murmurs. “You have performed most splendidly, but the night is young and we are far from finished.”

He tilts your head to steal a chaste kiss, and you allow him to guide you down until your back rests upon the mattress, your legs wrapped around his waist. The light around you darkens as he hovers over you, and you reach up to stroke the angular line of his cheek. When he grasps your smaller hand in his he smiles like the devil.

“You’re thinking,” you mutter at him, wondering why he doesn’t move. He still pants with lust and remains hard inside of you. “Even while we lay tangled together like this, you are scheming.”

“As I am wont to do,” he shrugs. “But it is a most important matter, and before we continue I would know your answer.”

“Hmm. You stalked me across the Crystarium and went so far as to  _ abduct me _ , and now you will not ravish me,” you sigh. “What torments the Ascian so that he would abstain from claiming the Warrior he has been so desperate to possess?”

“The possessing,” he replies without missing a beat. 

You blink, confused, and for a moment you believe that your heart has stopped.

“Come again?” you ask, and he flashes you a lewd grin.

“In due time. Now tell me, my dear, for I would know the truth,” he says, and he toys with a lock of your hair. “Have I been mistaken, or do you wish to be mine?”

You feel the color staining your cheeks as warmth creeps up your neck, and your chest heaves with your breath. There’s a soberness to his gaze that pins you in place, and you find that you cannot look away. You feel that Emet-Selch is peering deeply into you, as if he can see straight through to your soul. 

If you lie, he will know.

“You’re not mistaken,” you finally breathe, and he tenses around you.

“Even knowing my terms?” he asks, breathy and low. 

Perhaps you attribute this to a loss of sensibilities whilst in the throes of passion. You have known men to display such grandstanding in matters of romance. Even Aymeric had once promised that nothing should tear you apart, but distance and a war proved otherwise. 

Maybe it is these experiences that color your perception of Emet-Selch’s words. It may be that your current state of physical intimacy muddles your assessment. 

It would serve your best interests to remember who you are dealing with, that the terms of an ancient soul carry more gravitas than those of an Eorzean man.

But you're not thinking of your best interests. You fail to heed the warnings, and so do you sow the seeds of your own downfall.

“Yes,” you answer to Emet-Selch’s terms, and he crashes upon you like a wave. 

"That's right," he coaxes, his warm breath against your lips as he rolls his hips into yours. 

"Be mine, Warrior, and I would give you anything," Emet-Selch promises.

You moan, low and needy as he moves within you, each thrust languid and deep.

"Anything?" you gasp, sliding your arms around his neck, trailing your nails along his back. 

He traces the tip of his nose along your jaw, nips at the hollow of your cheek before he draws back to look deep into your eyes, and you are taken by a sudden chill down your spine as his golden gaze darkens and you realize that  _ he knows _ . 

" _ Anything _ ," he smirks, accentuating the word with a particularly deep, deliberate thrust that forces a cry from your throat. 

Emet-Selch grips your shoulders to hold you in place as he ruts you like a stag in heat. The room fills with your moans of wild abandonment and the vulgar sounds of your coupling as he drives into you over and over, his sack slapping against your bottom with every stroke. 

"Tell me, sweet hero," he groans hotly against your ear, "how does it feel to be penetrated so deeply by me?"

The crude words spark a thrill through your body as you rake your nails across the back of his neck and gasp, " _ good _ , so good!"

Your praise ignites him and he seizes your mouth in a searing kiss that leaves you breathless, a thin trail of saliva stretched between your tongues when you both come up for air.

"You're  _ mine _ ," the Ascian growls as he closes his eyes and rests his forehead against yours. His Garlean third eye feels foreign, but cool against your heated skin. 

"I'll not let anyone else have you," he swears. He clutches you against him, and you're not sure if the words are more for you, or him. 

The continued slide of his hardness between your thighs has rekindled your arousal, and the intensity of your love making and his desire for you are quickly pushing you to your limits. 

"Emet-Selch," you pant, giving up your inhibitions and clinging to him desperately, "will you promise to fuck me like this every night?"

" _ By Zodiark _ ," he hisses and twitches, your words nearly undoing him, "you won't be able to live without my cock."

He knows that you're close when you begin to squirm in his embrace and reaches between your bodies to stoke your flame. 

"I want to feel you let go," he sighs above you, intent now on bringing you release. "Forget everything else. Focus on me."

Although your mind is clouded by euphoria there is something in his tone that catches your attention, and his words take on another meaning. You feel as though you're hearing the plea of a man who has spent countless lifetimes in loneliness, and tears prick your eyes. 

When orgasm takes you it is both blissful and heart-breaking. You hold Emet-Selch tightly as you tremble and wail, while realizing with stinging clarity that you don't know his true name. Your toes curl, and your heart aches. 

  
  
  
  
  


“Relax now, darling,” Emet-Selch soothes, leaning in to nip at your ear. “Give yourself up to me.” 

He unwinds your arms from around his neck and lets you sink down in the mattress, guiding your wrists down to either side of your head. When his weight shifts to pin you in place you make a token gesture at testing his restraint, but are content for the moment to cede control.

Much like that first night when you laid beneath him like this, you are filled with a sense of longing. It feels as if your soul itself would embrace this man if it could, comfort whatever aches have plagued him through the millenia. If all you can do in this moment is to let him take comfort from your embrace, your body, you are full glad to let him do so.

“Mine,” he murmurs above you, trailing kisses along your neck while driving his hips into you.

“Yours, yes…” you whisper in reply.

You roll your hips up against his as he rocks into you, meeting him thrust for thrust, encouraging him towards his release. You know that he’s close when his breathing quickens, his hold on you tightening.

“So long have I waited,” he pants, pushing deep inside of you. “My beautiful Warrior.”

“I’m here,” you moan, rolling your head against the mattress. 

You are too far sated to be aroused for a third time, but the sensation of being stretched and filled and his seeming need to possess you make you squirm beneath him all the same.

“Beg me, my love” he growls, nipping harshly at your throat. “Beg me to fill your womb with my seed.”

“Emet-Selch,  _ please _ …!” you plead, writhing under his hold, and he laughs, darkly. 

“What will your Scions say to find you impregnated by the Emperor of Garlemald?” he taunts, and your moans are enough to push him over the edge.

He spills deep within you with all that he has, your name on his lips when he finally loosens his hold and falls beside you, gasping for breath and utterly spent.

You lay there for a long moment simply staring at the ceiling, listening to the Ascian’s quiet breathing beside you. Your hand finds his and you lace your fingers together, smiling when he presses himself against your side and drapes his arm across your waist.

“For a cultured Emperor of Garlemald, you have a filthy mouth,” you mutter. When you tilt your head you find him looking back at you, smirking.

“You love it,” he teases. 

Emet-Selch closes his eyes, tracing gentle circles along the swell of your hip with his fingertips. It’s the first time you’ve seen him look so relaxed, you think, and it lightens your spirits. You wish that he would look so peaceful always.

“Did you fall asleep already?” you ask after a long silence, and his indignant snort is your only reply. You begin to realize how tired you are yourself. 

“I could sleep for a week,” you sigh.

“Go ahead,” he mumbles, shifting slightly among the blankets. “No one shall find you here.”

You roll your eyes at him, even if he’s not watching.

“You know that I can’t. I’ve been missing for far too long already.”

“ _ Now _ you should wish to return, after I have grown comfortable,” the man grouses, and you shake him by the shoulder for the sake of being a pest.

“ _ Fine _ ,” he huffs, “but don’t expect to be rid of me so easily.”

You wouldn’t expect any less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are again. This was going to be longer but it was already so lengthy that I decided to move the next scene into the next chapter. 
> 
> If you are a writer and/or enjoy FFXIV fics, come join a very friendly and enabling group: https://discord.gg/ftFnYbe
> 
> Find me on Twitter: @AzureSummoner


	5. Conditions (EX)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The WoL has a relaxing bath and makes plans to sleep in the following morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I haven't mentioned it before, it all goes downhill from here.

The first thing in order you decide, upon returning to the Pendants, is to draw a hot bath and soak until your fingers have thoroughly pruned.

Your desecrated grimoire rests upon the table where you’d left it, and you make a mental note that you will need to return to the markets in the morning to buy materials for repair. A task that you would have completed by now had it not been for a very  _ thorough distraction _ . 

Emet-Selch, for his part, is content to watch you flutter about the room. Stretched out as he is upon your bed you would think that he has not a care in the world. He hums happily to himself while you go through the motions of your nightly routine, checking on things here and there, setting out your night clothes, writing notes in your journal.

“You’re in a rather good mood,” you comment offhandedly. It’s the first thing you’ve said since your return.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asks, wearing a lazy smile. When you don’t bother to look up from your writing he begins to prod you for attention.

“Come to bed already,” he beckons. “Well, after you’ve had your bath. You’re filthy.”

“And whose fault is that?” You shake your head and roll your eyes, scratching out the last of your entry. “I suppose you’re staying the night, then?” 

You place the ink quill back in its pot and at last set your journal down, moving along to test the bath water. The temperature is perfect, you decide, and add a touch of lavender fragrance.

“I did say that you would not be rid of me so easily,” Emet-Selch reminds you, wagging a finger in your direction. You tilt your head at him.

"I have an early start in the morning. Do you think you can manage to sleep in my bed without involving the ‘ _ Little Emperor’ _ ?"

Emet-Selch’s smile fades, a pause, and then he bursts into mad laughter.

“You’ve  _ named _ it?” he cackles. 

“So what?” you shrug. Having been around Thancred long enough you can think of a good many euphemisms that you’ve unwillingly overheard for  _ his _ business. 

“Oh dear,” he laughs, “if we’re at the point that you’ve given my manhood a  _ pet name _ I should daresay that we’re practically married.”

The Ascian is grinning at you like an idiot, and your face has never burned hotter. 

“Is this how you wooed your Empress?” you sputter, aggravated that you’ve let him get a rise out of you. 

Reflecting on your own choice of retort gives way to a surprising bitterness in your gut. You know damn well that Emet-Selch hasn't spent his years in celibacy. Zenos is testament enough to that. Why does it bother you? Are you actually jealous?

"You're frowning," the Ascian sighs, rolling onto his side to face you. "Let me assure you, my dear, I merely played a role. Building an empire is  _ exhausting _ work that requires certain... duties."

"Is this your idea of making me feel better?" You cross your arms over your chest and raise an eyebrow at him. 

"For all that my words won't matter, I swear to you that I have never  _ wanted _ anyone as I do  _ you _ ."

"I really don't understand," you mutter. You're still convinced that sooner or later, this will all be revealed as some elaborate ruse. One that you've become a willing participant in.

"It's impossible to convince you in  _ one night _ , " he groans. "Give me  _ time _ and I promise, I shall lay every one of your doubts to rest."

With a sigh you release your aggressive posturing, knowing that Emet-Selch has a point. Your feelings are still raw, considering that the remnants of his release yet drip down your thighs. 

“Take your bath already,” the Ascian huffs. “The bed grows cold without you. Come lay with me and I shall endeavor to hold you most sweetly while you drift away to sleep, without involving the -- as you say -- ‘ _ Little Emperor’ _ .”

He rolls his eyes dramatically. “Personally, I would have used ‘ _ The Conqueror’ _ .” 

You snort at his ego and are lifting your shirt up over your head when a knock at the door halts your movements. Emet-Selch immediately flops over, flat on his back, and frustratedly bangs his head against the mattress. 

"Or I suppose I'll  _ leave _ ," he grumbles.

"What? No, just -- stay there and be quiet!" you ramble off in a hushed tone. 

Who is calling upon you  _ now _ ? You cross the room and open the door just wide enough to poke your head out. Perhaps your visitor will take the hint. 

Or not. You find yourself face-to-face with the Exarch for a second night.

"Pardon the intrusion," he begins, "I -- my friend,  _ what  _ has happened?"

He appears distressed, his tone shifting from casual to deep concern, and he gestures toward your neck. 

Belatedly you remember how Emet-Selch had bitten you earlier, and with widening eyes you realize that you must now have a spectacular bruise. You imagine that if the smug bastard is listening in to your conversation -- what are you thinking, of course he is -- he’s probably reveling in the knowledge that the  _ Exarch _ of all people has seen his mark on you.

“I-I’m fine, really,” you try to reassure him. “Um… this isn’t really the best time.”

“Ah, I can’t just --,” the Exarch stammers under his breath. “Please, just -- five minutes of your time?”

It’s clear that you won’t be getting rid of the man without some form of acknowledgement, so with a resigned sigh you step out of your room, quietly shutting the door behind yourself.

\------

The Exarch has insisted on speaking with you out of earshot from your room. It’s obvious that you have  _ company _ . You smell of sex and of  _ him _ , your hair is disheveled, and as you subconsciously squeeze your thighs together you are shamefully reminded that you are also not wearing any smallclothes. How they went ‘missing’ is a mystery, but you’re half-sure that Emet-Selch has kept them as a souvenir.

“Really, are you alright?” the Exarch asks, undisguised worry in his voice. You want to tell him that your private affairs are none of his business, that as long as you are performing your duties as the Warrior of Light and Darkness he should be satisfied and leave you be.

You do not. The Exarch is a professed ally and friend, and as usual, you are too soft-handed in dealing with people who claim to care about your well-being.

“You need not be worried,” you say. “I am a woman grown, Exarch, and I…”

Why are you attempting to justify yourself? Maybe it's the guilt gnawing at your stomach, considering that the man in front of you summoned you to the First to stop the one that's lounging in your bed. 

“It’s been a very hard day.” You’ve managed to find your voice, and the spine to look into the inky blackness that masks the Exarch’s eyes. “You have nothing to worry about. I’m fine, and I’ll be fighting fit for Amh Ahrang.”

“My friend, that’s not why I --” the Exarch is quick to respond, flustered. You feel that there’s something more that he would say, something he’s holding back. He couldn’t possibly know, could he?

“As you’ve said, it’s been a very hard day,” he resumes, his tone steadier. “I wanted to see how you fared, but…”

He gestures toward you, your neck. “I would be your confidant if you wish it, and if not me then surely the other Scions…”

“Thank you, Exarch, but I’m fine,” you repeat, not sure who you are attempting to convince. You won’t be fine when everyone finds out your secret.

“Then… I shall let you rest, my champion.” He does his best to sound level, but there’s a certain tension that hangs between you. It’s about time you were on your way, so you put on a half-smile and nod.

“Good night then, Exarch,” you bid him, and turn away for your room. 

You have no way of knowing that the Crystal Exarch’s fine nose has picked up the Ascian’s scent on your skin. He clenches a fist at his side as he watches you go, until the sight of glistening fluid between your thighs causes something in him to  _ snap _ .

A strangled cry escapes you as you are seized from behind, strong arms wrapping around your waist to hold you taut against the Exarch. His chest heaves with his hot breaths against your ear, fingers digging into your hip, your ribs, a thumb pressed into the underside of your breast.

“Why do you  _ lie _ ?” he growls, low and dark. Your spine stiffens in terror at his feral tone, but you realize that he still exercises a degree of restraint. For now.

You do your best to hold your breathing steady, but it’s hard to draw a deep breath into your lungs, being held so tightly. Your hands pry at the Exarch’s wrists and you contemplate where you might successfully jab an elbow, when he suddenly spins you around and presses your back flat against the wall.

“Do you know what you do to me, my Warrior?” he whispers, leaning his face close to yours. His crystal fingers brush along the bruise at your neck, trace the outline of your jaw, thread through the hair at the back of your neck as he cradles the base of your skull.

This close, you feel that you can almost see his features hidden beneath the cowl. You could tear back his hood and unmask him now if your hands weren’t so busy at his shoulders, attempting to hold the man at bay.

“Whatever the Ascian has done, I will  _ protect _ you, if you would only --”

The door to your room swings open on its hinges, and there stands Emet-Selch. Stripped down to bed clothes at some point, the silk -- of  _ course _ it’s silk -- shirt hanging open to expose the musculature of his chest. 

He has something cocked between his fingers, and all too late your mind deciphers what you are seeing. The Exarch has barely taken two steps back when Emet-Selch slingshots your smallclothes at his face. 

“That’s the only taste of her you’re going to get,” he warns.

With combined horror and embarrassment you snatch up your delicates as they hit their target, hastily moving to shove the tall man back into your room. You give the Exarch a final bewildered look before shutting the door, but he is pinned fast by Emet-Selch’s unwavering stare.

\------------------------

You’re not sure how long you’ve been gripping the edge of the bathing tub, staring at your own reflection in the water, but a light touch at the small of your back brings you out of your trance. 

You look up to find the Ascian studying you, and not giving it a second thought you press yourself against him, slide your hands beneath the silk shirt and up his back, let your eyes flutter shut when he wraps his arms around you and pulls you closer. He’s warm against you and his heart beats steadily. 

If he is upset by your encounter with the Exarch, he does a good job at masking it. He doesn’t bring it up or press you for information, just lets you hold onto him while he rubs your back. You want to,  _ need _ to say something though. Need to release some of the tension in your chest.

“I never thought he would… I didn’t expect…” you try, but processing the sudden turn in behavior of your mysterious patron requires more mental effort than you have to spare at the moment.

Emet-Selch takes your shoulders to pull you away from him and presses a finger to your lips. 

“Bath,” he reminds you. He presses a kiss to your forehead and turns you back toward the tub, letting his fingers slide down your arms before his touch falls away.

Reminded of your original task you remember how uncomfortably filthy you feel, and it doesn’t take long for you to strip out of your clothing. Your shirt and bindings fall to the floor, followed in short order by your skirt. Your skin prickles slightly at the cool air against it, but you downright  _ shiver _ when you dip your foot into the water. 

“It’s  _ cold _ ,” you whine, frowning. “I didn’t think I was gone for  _ that _ long.”

Emet-Selch gives you a strangely annoyed look, huffs, and snaps his fingers. You are mildly shocked to find a pleasant warmth restored to the water, and look up at him questioningly.

“What? Heating your bath water is such a trivial thing, my sweet, but you  _ do _ need to learn to  _ ask _ for what you want,” he sighs. “I’m willing to warm more than your bath, but alas, I did promise to be a gentleman this night.”

You scoff at him and climb into the tub, sinking down into the lavender scented water until only your head and your knees poke out. It feels  _ delightful _ , and you stretch out as much as you are able before you notice the Ascian rolling up his sleeves.

“Hm?” You blink at him, watch as he kneels beside the tub and steals your soap.

“Now what? Am I not allowed to bathe you?” he asks. You rub at the rising color in your cheeks and give a meek nod before he guides you back to wet your hair. The idea of being pampered by the man replaces the tension in your chest with a blossoming warmth, and you nearly  _ melt _ when he begins to massage your scalp.

“So tense,” he mutters while he works, bringing the soap in your hair to a generous lather. “I’ll teach you to relax, yet.”

Your thoughts begin to wander as more of the tension eases from your body, as Emet-Selch rinses your hair and moves on to wash your back. If you were a Miqo’te would you be purring now? Did you ever have that drink with Brithael that you promised? Does Kugane still have that little stall in the back alley that makes those bean paste buns you’ve come to adore?

Emet-Selch is thorough,  _ patient _ , you decide, and doesn’t stop until you have been cleaned from head to toe. Even after you’ve stepped out of the water to towel off he insists on patting your hair dry for you, and all the while you blush like a maiden. 

Eventually you make your way to bed, clean and happy and… terribly aroused. You curse yourself for your weakness and wonder if the Ascian had meant to take care of you, or if his tender ministrations were an elaborate game to seduce you from the start. 

He’s already flopped into bed with an arm slung across his eyes. You’re quick to crawl to his side and lean over him, tugging your nightgown down as much as possible to show off your cleavage.

“Don’t go to sleep yet,” you pester him. 

He cracks his eyes open and peers up at you from beneath his arm, as if he were already halfway to slumberland. 

“Go to bed, hero,” he mutters. “You have an early start, remember?”

“But I…” You reach for a way to put it  _ delicately _ . “I want your company.”

“Hm? You  _ have _ my company. I am here now, and I shall be here when you wake. You have no need to fear being alone, my dear.”

“You’re horrible,” you huff. “You know what I meant.” 

“Perhaps you should learn to better word your requests,” he taunts, smirking up at you.

“Why are you so difficult?” you prod. “You said I could ask you for anything, and I am  _ asking _ .”

“Ah,” he relents, slowly sitting up. “I said you could have anything, with a  _ condition _ .”

Emet-Selch is smiling as he leans closer to you, reaching up to trace his thumb along your bottom lip. “You do remember?”

A flush warms your face as you recall your vows from earlier that night. You try to look away but he’s quick to turn your gaze back at him. It wasn’t just something said in a moment of passion. He’s serious.

“If I…” you stammer. “If I were yours.”

“And are you?” he whispers, trailing his fingers along your neck, over your collarbone, to the valley between your breasts.

When you hesitate he strokes a thumb over one of your satin covered nipples, pulling a gasp from you.

“Yes…” you breathe, wondering what sort of devil’s contract you’ve agreed to. 

Your answer seems to placate him, for the moment. He flashes you a sinful smile and grips the hem of your nightgown.

“Plan on sleeping in tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene with the Exarch was going to be a lot shorter, but the Emet-Selch Discord cheered for the worse option and... there you have it. I apologize if things feel too OOC this chapter. Under my rock I go.
> 
> If you are a writer and/or enjoy FFXIV fics, come join a very friendly and enabling group: https://discord.gg/ftFnYbe
> 
> Find me on Twitter: @AzureSummoner


	6. Things Unremembered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know that you will find whatever beckons you, but in exchange you will be lost forever in that unyielding darkness. 

Something scratches deep within your brain, like nails against the inside of a wooden coffin. Something is prying at the seams to get out. You stare into the chasm before you, feeling the gravity of the inky void pulling you further forward as you try to peer deeper. The thing that you seek lies within that abyssal darkness, you could reach out and grasp it if only you were willing to fall. 

Tempting fate, you draw ever closer to the edge of that shadowy space, daring to lean in a fraction more, to stretch your fingers toward an unknown. 

Immediately, cold unseen tendrils seize your wrists. They lash around your ankles, your waist. One curls around your neck and pulls taut, restricting your airflow as you are forced closer to the brink. Panic swells within your chest as you try to dig your heels into the ground but you slide, dragged closer and closer until your feet meet open air. 

You know that you will find whatever beckons you, but in exchange you will be lost forever in that unyielding darkness. 

‐-------------------

You bolt upright in a cold sweat, wide eyes unfocused as you suck cool air into your lungs. A dream. A terrible one, though already half-forgotten. 

Strong arms encircle your trembling form, pulling you back down into a nest of blankets. Wrapped in a warm embrace with fingers gently stroking your hair, your pounding heart eventually settles and you are lulled back to sleep. 

\---------------

It's late morning by the time you reawaken. Groaning, you lazily stretch your legs out and are confused when you find that you cannot move freely. Oh, right. You're not alone. 

The sight of a sleeping Emet-Selch greets you when you manage to open your eyes. It's a strange feeling, to wake with someone else in your bed -- neverminding who your partner is. This is something you haven't experienced in a long time, and it feels… comforting. 

The man beside you appears surprisingly peaceful in sleep, no snark or irritation to twist his handsome features. Well, that's something. You're allowing yourself to admit that you find him attractive.

Will you wake him if you give in to your urge to touch him? You're going to find out. Almost shyly you brush away the long hair that's fallen across his eyes, let your fingertips ghost along the angled line of his cheek, trail the steady pulse at his neck. 

He shifts slightly, makes a mild sound at being disturbed, but otherwise doesn't stir. It's time for you to get out of bed. 

You manage to bathe and dress before the lump in your bed grumbles something at you, voice slightly hoarse from disuse. 

"I have errands," you say, leaning over him. His response is to catch you by the wrist and haul you down beside him. 

"Sleep in," he mutters. You think, for all that Emet-Selch is some fearsome ancient being, he also seems to be incredibly lazy. This thought sticks in your mind. Not his loafing about, endearing as that is, but the nature of who and _what_ he is. Not for the first time, you wonder what you’re doing. What you’re doing with _him_. You muddle over this for some moments before speaking.

“What are you expecting out of this?” you ask. Flat on your back you stare up at the ceiling, picking out small patterns in the wood. When you don't receive a reply you continue with your stream of thought. 

"If this was a plan to distract me, it hasn’t worked. Tomorrow I’ll go to Amh Ahrang. I’m going to find the final Light Wardens.” 

He’s watching you now, but he still won’t say anything. It’s annoying, and you decide to push him further.

“Your plans will be ruined. It will come to blows, as it always does, and what will all this have been for?” 

Emet-Selch is smiling. You should feel accomplished now that he’s finally acknowledged your speech, but it’s hard to congratulate yourself when you know he’s about to throw something in your face.

“Darling, you’ve _already_ ruined my plans,” he laughs. “I’ll simply start over again. It’s not as if I have a choice in the matter.”

You frown at his ability to treat his tempering so jovially. One more item on the list of all the things wrong in your doomed relationship. He sighs, knowing that he’s prickled your barriers, and leans in to kiss you. Doomed or not, his touch still makes your heart flutter.

“And this grand finale you are so set upon?,” he asks, speaking softly against your lips. “What makes you think it shall come to pass? The path your so-called ‘friends’ are pushing you along would see you turned into the most powerful Light Warden this blighted star shall ever know.”

You clench your teeth, and you can feel your eyebrows knitting together in anger. It doesn’t matter that he’s right. You are the Warrior of Light. It is your solemn duty to defend Hydaelyn’s children, no matter what it costs you. And it has cost you so much already.

Emet-Selch kisses your temple to bring your attention back to him, and holds you by the back of the neck as he leans in to whisper in your ear.

“As for _personal_ matters, I seem to recall a lovely little Warrior who was rather eager to get at my cock. Or did I imagine that?”

Your face is burning when he draws away, but he hasn’t quite finished yet. He presses a pair of fingers to your breastbone and forces you to look at him, really look deep into his eyes.

“I’m well aware of what _I_ want, my love. The time draws nigh that you were honest about what it is that _you_ desire. Try listening to your soul for a change.” 

You’re left shaken as he rises from bed and begins to pull his clothes on. He could snap his fingers, but it’s more fun for him to draw it out as much as possible, let you bask in his presence. Emet-Selch smooths his hair out and glances back at you, as if he’s just remembered something.

“Don’t you have errands, hero? Well, go on.” He waves a hand as if dismissing you, and you blink at his frivolous attitude. “Oh, don’t dawdle. I’ll see you tonight.”

“Tonight?” you ask, confused. He doesn’t seem to be put off at all by the conversation you’ve just had.

“Yes, tonight. How was it? ‘ _Oh, Emet-Selch, please fuck me like this every night!_ ’ What sort of paramour would I be if I didn’t take care of you?” he teases.

He easily side-steps the pillow you throw, and the last you see of him is an infuriating grin before he disappears through a cloud of dark aether. 

\---------------------------

The remainder of your morning runs considerably smoother. You (at last) gather what’s needed for your grimoire, and you even manage to coax Thancred out for lunch. Your fellow Hyur makes for surprisingly good company when he hasn’t been drinking to excess, though you’ll admit that young Minfilia’s presence seems to have matured him a fair deal in a short time.

You part on a good note, happy to see him in higher spirits but also suspicious that he hasn’t acted untoward you in any manner. It would seem that the Scions have not yet learned of what you’re hiding. Biting the inside of your cheek, you decide to square certain matters away before the evening comes to pass.

Your afternoon is spent tending to your treasured tome, lovingly re-stitching the pages that fell loose, mending the crack along its binding. When you are satisfied that the book is restored and battle-ready, you sling it at your hip and set out once more. The sun is waning, and you have business to attend to.

\-----------------

The Exarch is attending Lyna when you find him in the Ocular. The Viis has nearly finished her status report and doesn’t linger for long, but she does take a moment to apprise you of the current state of the Crystarium. The guard are still reeling from yesterday’s attack, though many of the citizenry have volunteered their services to help ease the burden during the recovery period. Everyone has pulled together to support one another in this difficult time. Lyna expresses her faith in the Crystal Exarch’s guidance, and leaves you with a confident smile.

The moment the Ocular’s doors close behind her it’s as if the air has been sucked from the room, and the Exarch drops his pretense. With his shoulders slumped he isn’t the proud figure you should recognize. He can’t even look you in the eyes. It’s a long moment before he speaks.

“I don’t know where to begin…” he starts, weakly. You fill in the gaps.

“I could pay you back for last night. I should have bruised your jaw,” you scowl, subconsciously touching the high-necked shirt that covers your own marred skin. 

"I would deserve it, and more," he laments. "I am... so very sorry for what I've done to you, Warrior."

You clench a fist at your side, conflicted. You believe his sincerity, but words alone won't heal the rift between you. 

"You haven't told the Scions," you say. It's a statement of fact. The question is, why should he bother to keep your secrets? If you were to guess, the Scions still harbor a degree of distrust in the Exarch. To find that he had accosted the Warrior of Light would further the divide. It might even jeopardize his mission to slay the Light Wardens.

In the same vein you can't completely separate yourselves from the Exarch. He _is_ the one who summoned you all to the First, and while _you_ may be able to freely traverse the rift, your friends remain trapped. The Crystal Exarch is your only lead in how to get the Scions home. 

So, you decide, you will be civil. You will carry on with your missive to save the First, and to deal with whatever other situations may arise. 

You can't bring yourself to acknowledge those 'other situations' right now, so you return to your present conversation. 

"No, I've told no one," he admits. "But I wouldn't have you think it's to cover for my own actions."

You tilt your head at him, a bit surprised that he's finally regained strength in his voice and has found the resolve to face you. 

"I _fear_ for you," he confesses with a righteous fervor, tightening his grip on his staff. "If the Scions are the only ones you might turn to I would _never_ seek to burn that bridge."

"But Warrior," he pleads, "I _beg_ you. See Emet-Selch for what he is. He doesn't…"

Doesn't what, _love_ you? You're not foolish enough to expect that he would. He doesn’t have your best interests at heart? He doesn’t plan to let you succeed? There are at least a dozen endings you could think of to that sentence, but you never do find out what the Exarch was going to say. He lets it drop.

“We leave tomorrow for Amh Ahrang. If that’s all, Exarch...” you bid him cooly. He nods to you in farewell, and you hear his soft words as you exit the Ocular. 

“May you ever walk in the light of the Crystal, Warrior of Light.”

\---------------------------------

Your conversation with the Exarch has left you strangely wistful, but you can’t associate the feeling to a specific memory. Rather, it feels like you’ve forgotten something important. You hold your head and release a frustrated sigh, wondering what it is that you can’t seem to remember.

Early night has settled across the Crystarium, and you’ve found a quiet perch above the bustle of the markets where you expect you will have some privacy to think. You leave for Amh Ahrang in the morning, where Minfilia’s fate will be decided. Whatever the outcome, you should be able to resume your hunt for the Light Wardens. Your journey on the First nears its end, and that knowledge leads you back to your fears.

What will you do if you can’t contain the Light?

When Emet-Selch sweeps you up into his arms it takes you by surprise. You’re a bit embarrassed by the squeak you make, about to berate him for sneaking up on you, but the intensity in the way he’s looking at you stops you short. It’s almost frightening.

“What are you thinking?” you breathe, and his silence unnerves you. He doesn’t answer right away, but when he does there’s a dark edge to his voice.

“That I could steal away with you right now and your Scions would be none the wiser.”

Your heart skips a beat. Then you puff out the air in your lungs and give his shoulder a playful swat. “Not tonight you won’t. Put me down.”

At first he merely gives you a sour look, seems to be giving consideration to something. Eventually you feel his hold relax a bit. He presses a kiss to your forehead and sets you on your feet, but is quick to circle his arms around your waist and pull you against him.

“You went to the Exarch,” he mutters with a scowl. Of course he would know about that.

“I had business with him.” 

“Had some things to say about me, did he?” he asks. Nothing happened, what’s the point in going through this?

“Since you were listening in, why don’t you tell me?” you huff.

“Hm. He seems convinced that I don’t…” 

You stiffen at that, gripping the fur trim of Emet-Selch’s coat so tightly that your hands begin to shake. Damn him for knowing how to push your buttons. He can’t be leading this conversation where you think he is. 

“Nervous?” He sounds almost surprised. “Your heart feels ready to burst from your chest. What troubles you, darling?”

You’re letting him get under your skin again, but your mind is already wandering a dangerous path. You think back to all the things that Emet-Selch has said to you. The terms of endearment he insists on using. Mine. Darling. My sweet hero. My love. 

You feel faint.

“Oh dear, have I pushed you too far?” he laughs. 

His hand slides up your back to rest between your shoulders, holding you steady. You draw a deep breath as he leans toward you. You think that he’s going to kiss you and close your eyes, until you feel his nose brush against the shell of your ear, his breath stirring the fine hairs there.

He whispers something, and you are lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are a writer and/or enjoy FFXIV fics, come join a very friendly and enabling group: https://discord.gg/ftFnYbe
> 
> Find me on Twitter: @AzureSummoner


	7. Possessive (EX)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last night before Amh Araeng.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The return of smut.

“You’re distracted,” Emet-Selch grumbles. He’s not wrong.

He has one hand tangled through your hair, holding your head down against the mattress as he takes you from behind at his leisure. Agonizingly slow, by your opinion. You buck your hips back against him and he’s quick to discipline you with a firm swat at your ass.

“ _ Patience _ is a virtue, my dear,” he scolds when you yelp. 

“I can’t be patient,” you whine. “There’s nothing to  _ do _ down here!”

Bent over as you are with your ass hiked into the air, there’s not much you can do except twist your fingers into the sheets. You are also unused to a position that leaves you so exposed and vulnerable, giving up most control of the situation to your partner.

Yet, after those sweet words he whispered in your ear, you’re willing to let him have almost anything he wants. A heated blush still stains your face, and you’re thankful that he can’t get a clear view from where he kneels over you. Hydaelyn knows it would only encourage him.

“Grin and bear it, darling,” Emet-Selch teases. 

“Since you  _ insist _ \--” A sudden, deep thrust tears a moan from you, “on traveling to that Zodiark-forsaken desert and leaving me behind, I will take my time with you as I see fit.”

Tormented by the Ascian’s maddening pace and a lack of stimulation to your throbbing arousal, you decide to take matters into your own hands, in a most literal fashion. However you’ve barely managed to lift your arm before Emet-Selch grabs your wrist and pins it down.

“Don’t you dare,” he pants. “Tonight you will do as I tell you.”

“Then tell me to  _ do _ something already,” you growl, “or do you intend to neglect me all night?”

He releases your wrist and draws his hand back, trailing his fingers along your thigh, up to your hip before sliding the flat of his palm over your stomach and down between your legs to smooth over your inner thigh. He begins to caress you so  _ close _ to your aching sex but refuses to touch you directly, delighting in the way you squirm against him in your frustration.

Emet-Selch’s breath is hot against the back of your neck. You can’t see his face but you  _ know _ that he’s wearing that smug grin of his. You’ve been going at it for a while now and he has tormented you every step of the way. You are giving serious consideration to how you can wrestle yourself from his hold when he growls against your shoulder and stills above you.

Did he just…?

“Emet-Selch…” you gasp, momentarily stunned when you feel him pull away, “you  _ bastard _ \--” 

He’s wearing a wicked smile as he rolls onto his side to watch you, still bent over with your ass in the air. You unsteadily lift yourself up on your elbows, torn between disbelief and fury and imagining all of the ways in which you will make him suffer when he twirls his finger at you.

“I said that you will  _ obey _ me tonight,” he reminds you, his tone suggesting that there is no room for argument. “I want to watch you finish yourself.”

Your face heats even more, if possible, at the absolute  _ lewdness _ of his suggestion -- no, order. You bare your teeth at his audacity, but then he flicks his fingers in your direction and  _ something  _ teases directly against your neglected sex and causes your knees to shake.

“Wh -- What was…” you gasp, fighting for your composure.

“Darling, this ends in either of two ways,” Emet-Selch taunts. “Do as I say and you shall have your release, or I will tie you down and delight in bringing you to the edge, over and  _ over _ again until you are a begging, sobbing mess.”

You hesitate. There is something sinfully delicious about the idea of putting yourself at his mercy, letting him pleasure you to the brink again and again. But you ache terribly from his earlier teasing, and you are already so close. 

"I'll pay you back for this," you hiss through clenched teeth, sliding a hand between your legs. You sweep up a patch of his viscous seed that clings to your thighs and smear it over your throbbing clit, moaning lowly at the rush of stimulation as you finally find some relief. 

You squeeze your eyes shut as you focus on the center of your arousal, alternating the pressure of each stroke against your dripping sex.  _ Hydaelyn _ , you are so close --

"Ah, ah," the Ascian quietly admonishes you. "Eyes on me, my sweet. I want you to focus on me while you touch yourself."

The vain bastard. Still, you do as he asks, watching him through a haze of lust as your body begins to tremble. 

"Ohh, Em-- _ Emet-Selch… _ " you whine. "I'm… I…"

"Not yet you aren't," he chuckles darkly, and you hear him  _ snap _ . You cry out in shock and frustration as tendrils of dark aether erupt from the air around you, lashing around your wrists and forcibly pulling your arms behind you until your hands are pinned at the small of your back. 

You collapse onto your side as you feel more of the aetheric appendages snake around your legs, worming their way up to your inner thighs, and you  _ glare _ at Emet-Selch as hard as you can.

"Oh dear, that's a rather nasty look," he laughs. "Remember what I said about recognizing what you want for yourself? You shouldn't have hesitated."

You part your lips to deliver a scathing retort, but all that comes out is a warbled half-scream as one of the tendrils moves between your thighs to stroke over the little bundle of nerves there. Still close to release you are quick to give yourself over to the building sensation, relaxing in the tendril’s snare as your breath escapes in needy little huffs. You shouldn’t have given yourself away.

“Poor Warrior, did you think we were finished?” Emet-Selch taunts. The strange projection at your apex is quick to withdraw, leaving you gasping and desperately trying to grind your thighs together for relief that just won’t come. 

Your eyes widen as you are flipped onto your back and your legs pulled apart, tethered in place by the dark aether. Tilting your head back you find Emet-Selch lazily reclined among the pillows, face flushed as he watches you struggle against your bindings. 

“Another round?” he suggests, and you whine as one of the appendages brushes against your entrance. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.” 

Between your own wetness and the Ascian’s earlier release, you are more than prepared as it plunges into your throbbing cunt. Still, you scream in indignation as you are powerless to do much else.

“Really, do you want the entire Crystarium to hear what you’re up to?” Emet-Selch muses, and your cries are quickly muffled by the thick aether that forces its way past your lips. 

You whine, growl, and thrash about as much as you are able, which isn’t much at all. Above you, Emet-Selch is panting, and you realize a bit late that he can feel everything that these foreign limbs are doing to you. It is  _ his _ aether, after all.

“Do try to… hold still, dear,” he huffs, languidly stroking himself back to hardness as he watches you squirm. “I want to commit this to memory.”

Irritated, you simultaneously clench down upon the tendril between your legs while sucking deeply at the one in your mouth, and are pleased by his immediate reaction.

“ _ Fuck _ ! Little minx,” he groans, “figured it out… have you?”

Spurred on by his slip of control you embrace this method of retaliation. It becomes a game between you, the aether inside of you focused intently at your most sensitive spot, while you attempt to bring Emet-Selch to climax by working the phantom appendage in your mouth with your tongue and lips.

The stimulation brings you to tears before he finally  _ breaks _ , and the dark energy that binds you disappears all at once, letting you collapse against the mattress. You barely hit the bedding before the Ascian is hauling you up into his lap, growling at you through his heavy breaths. 

“I suppose I’ve… tormented you enough.” His voice is strained as he guides you to wrap your legs around his waist, and you cry out wantonly as he hilts into you with one solid thrust. Emet-Selch holds you tight against him while he rocks into you, lapping at the trails of salt that have run down to your chin.

“Oh, Emet-Selch,  _ please _ ,” you whine, digging your nails into his back, “let me finish already!”

You inwardly curse him for keeping true to his word. He’s certainly reduced you to a begging, though not quite sobbing, mess.

“ _ Say it _ ,” he demands, nipping at your neck. “Who do you belong to?”

He doesn’t afford you the chance to hesitate at your answer. His hand is already between your legs to stroke at your need.

“ _ You _ !” you cry, throwing your arms around his neck. “By the Twelve! I’m yours, Emet-Selch!”

Not thinking, you bite his shoulder to stifle your screams as you finally find your release, stars exploding behind your eyes from the intensity before it fades to an encompassing darkness. It leaves you shaking in his arms, and you tuck your head against his neck as you suck in deep breaths to level your breathing.

The Ascian hisses at the sharp pain of your teeth, but the way you clench around him in your climax has him following you quickly after. He thrusts into you once, twice, and cries out as he clutches you against him. 

You’re not sure how long you stay like that, holding on to one another while catching your breath, but eventually he lowers you to the mattress, still inside as he settles his weight over top of you. He leans down, your noses brushing together as he kisses you sweetly, savoring the moment as if you have all the time in the world.  _ If only _ , you think.

“So possessive,” you laugh softly against his lips, once he’s finally given you the room to speak. “Are you afraid I’ll find someone else out in the desert?”

Emet-Selch watches you, nips at the hollow of your throat, and shows you the hint of a sly grin. “After you’ve had me? I promise, there won’t be any other.”

“Smug…” you mutter, rolling your eyes playfully. His grin widens, and he presses another kiss against your lips before he shifts to lay beside you. You wince slightly when he slides out of you, feeling the warmth of his release that’s left behind. You should find a towel and clean up, but the thought of moving is  _ exhausting _ . 

“You’re  _ thinking _ too loudly,” Emet-Selch grumbles, pulling you against his chest. “The sooner you wake up and set out on this fool’s errand, the sooner you’ll return.” 

“Whatever you say,” you sigh, resigned to make yourself as comfortable as possible. Your mind is already turning over the preparations you’ll need to take before embarking on your journey to Amh Araeng. 

It is on those thoughts that you gradually drift away to sleep. Emet-Selch watches you fade as he strokes his fingers through your hair, smirking in the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 chapters left. 
> 
> If you are a writer and/or enjoy FFXIV fics, come join a very friendly and enabling group: https://discord.gg/ftFnYbe
> 
> Find me on Twitter: @AzureSummoner


	8. Into Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How did it come to be like this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're at the end, folks. Please see the end of the chapter for extended notes.

_How could I have been such a fool?_

The thought rings like a bell in your mind as you lay, defeated, staring up at the sky. It wasn't supposed to end like this. Not like this. 

The Scions lay scattered around you, unmoving. Urianger. Y'shtola. The twins. Thancred. Ryne. Even the Exarch has proven no match against your foe.

You expect Emet-Selch to gloat while you are still alive to hear it. He'll be sure to tell you how pathetic you are, a broken, mortal husk. How simple it was to pluck the strings of human emotion to send you spiraling toward your own destruction. 

In the end, your friends never did learn of your betrayal. It will be your burden to bear as you pass from this life, knowing that you could have confided in them, could have banded together as you always have before, could have found a way to stop the Ascian.

Instead, you have doomed them all. In your last thoughts, you dwell on the last push of your journey, the last hours you spent with the people who cared about you most, the people you have let down the most. 

How did it come to be like this?

\------------------------------

Nothing could have prepared you for your trials in Amh Araeng, for having to say ‘goodbye’ to another friend, but at the end of the day the Scions continued to stand by your side. And when you returned to the Crystarium bursting with Light, even the Exarch, in spite of knowing your betrayal, remained one of your staunchest supporters.

Your friends stood by you in the Ocular when Emet-Selch told you of the sundering, of how he was among only three to remain unscathed. You had never felt so shameful as when he declared to your group that he didn’t even consider them to be truly alive. Except for you.

_You for whom I have only the highest expectations._

He didn’t press you when you shunned him from your bed that night. Merely smiled, and promised to see you soon.

After the events in Amh Araeng, with Vauthry’s forces withdrawn and Ryne bearing the gifts of the Oracle of Light, you quickly tracked the final Light Warden to Eulmore. You will never forget Alphinaud’s disgust upon learning of how Vauthry had gained control over his subjects, or how the bastard gave no regard to setting civilians upon you. As you battled your way up the tower, your friends clearing the way until you stood alone, it was thoughts of protecting those people that saw you through your final battle with Ran’jit.

You never would have expected that Vauthry himself was the Light Warden. A cursed amalgamation of Sin Eater and man. You regretted watching him flee, but Alphinaud was quick to remind you of the people you had fought to protect, who needed you most in that moment.

It was later, upon The Ladder, when Emet-Selch came to you. You alone, while the Scions worked hand-in-hand with the citizens to restore the lift. You still didn’t want to see him, not that he saw it as a deterrent. He told you of the Ancients, of Amaurot, and of your own sundered soul. That if you were to survive the remaining rejoinings, you would be restored to a complete being. Sensing your dismissal he finally parted ways, but not before attempting to sow the seeds of doubt about the Exarch.

_I can’t imagine how hard it must be for Emet-Selch_ , Ardbert had said, stepping in to fill the wake left by the Ascian. _Don’t make a choice that leaves you alone. Nothing is worth that -- especially not eternity._

\------------------------------

Consciousness returns like waves lapping gently at the shoreline, ebbing and flowing. Though your body feels adrift at sea, something yet tethers you to the land. Someone is calling your name, reeling you in. 

"Hey… hey, come on!"

When you have regained enough of your senses to open your eyes you find Ardbert hovering over you, his frantic expression fading into a relieved grin. 

"Thank goodness," he sighs. He rolls back onto his ankles to allow you the space to sit up, gather your wits. You find yourself set upon a patch of grass in… a city? You take a moment to absorb your surroundings, the massive buildings, the twisting spires, taking particular note of the strange, watery sky. 

"What is this place?" you ask, finding your voice. It doesn't look like anywhere else you've seen on Norvrandt. The style is completely foreign, unrecognizable. Ardbert shakes his head. 

"No clue. It was all I could do to follow you here before Emet-Selch sealed his portal."

_Emet-Selch_. You scowl, clenching your fists in your lap. "The Scions?"

"Injured, but alive," the warrior reassures you. It's about the only thing that he _can_ reassure you of. You haven't a clue where you are, or why you're still alive, for that matter. 

Something lays beside you in the grass. Your grimoire. You seize the tome and clutch it tightly to your chest before fixing it to its home at your hip and rise, a bit unsteady, to your feet. 

You'll get no answers by staying put. Why Emet-Selch brought you here is a mystery, but he clearly wants to show you something. If you want to learn his reasons, if there is still some chance that you might defeat him and save the First, then you must press on. Everything now depends on finding him. 

So you march forward with Ardbert at your side, your only companion in what may well be your last stand. As long as you continue to draw breath you must uphold your duty. You wonder at the buildings, clearly too large for any normal person, the streets much too wide, until you encounter your first group of spectral inhabitants. Abnormally tall beings, they regard you as a precocious child when you approach. Their language is foreign, and yet you are able to understand them. You wonder if this is a product of the Echo.

Alas, you are unable to learn much from them. They’ve barely begun to speak before they begin to repeat themselves. _Go home to your family. These are dark times._ It’s as if you are talking to a recording, stuck in a moment in time. 

You continue on. For every new street and every new building explored, you find more of these ghostly dwellers. Gradually you are able to piece together a larger picture. A peaceful people gifted with creation magics. A catastrophe. The impending end times.

You’re in Amaurot.

_Not that you would remember any of this_ , you can hear Emet-Selch say. You rub your temples in aggravation, thinking, reflecting on the story he’d told you in the Qitana Ravel. Of the ancient world that had been split apart by the battle between Zodiark and Hydaelyn.

If this really is Amaurot, how could it possibly exist? It must have been destroyed _ages_ ago.

When you realize that Ardbert is watching you with concern, you wave off his worries. You must go on. Must put an end to this. You continue your journey among the apparitions, moving from street to street and building to building. You learn of things that leave you shaken. The Convocation of Fourteen and its members: Lahabrea, Elidibus, and Emet-Selch. 

Seeking an audience with the elusive Ascian leads you to the Capitol, and a peculiar being named Hythlodaeus. Speaking with him brings you the closest yet to getting some real answers. He reveals that he is a Shade -- a recreation of Emet-Selch’s design, like everything and everyone else in Amaurot. It gives you pause, to wonder how vast Emet-Selch’s magic is that he could conjure and sustain an entire _city_. Hythlodaeus tells you of the Final Days, and it is here that you ascertain a certain rumor, that the Convocation was reduced to Thirteen. The remaining members went on to summon Zodiark, leading to terrible sacrifices made to prolong the Ancient people.

You are shocked when Hythlodaeus tells you that he can see Ardbert, if intangibly. And what does he mean by the ‘color’ of your soul?

You don’t get the chance to ask, for you hear your name called and turn away. When you look back, Hythlodaeus is gone.

You, however, are set on your course. You feel your heart pounding in your chest as you make your way to your final destination, your grimoire weighing heavy at your side. To the Bureau of the Architect. Large golden doors part before you to reveal an expansive hallway, and at the end there stands a lone figure, waiting for you.

Emet-Selch.

\------------------------------

Your final battle drew ever nearer, and you had taken a moment alone to gather your thoughts. It was while gazing up at the floating Mt. Gulg that you spied the Crystal Exarch slumped against a rock. 

Though your relationship still felt the strain of days past, you could sense that something was off with the man. When you prodded him, he stirred as if from sleep and quickly dismissed your concerns. He gradually revealed that he had made himself one with the Crystal Tower to extend his lifetime, and being so far from it must have caused his strength to wane.

He bid you to sit with him, and while you hesitated, you slowly sank to the ground to join him. As if sensing your self-doubts, the Exarch was quick to reassure you of the good you’ve done, and the lives you’ve touched.

_You will leave countless lives better than you found them_ , he had said, _and the souls you touch will never forget your kindness._

Not once did he belittle or criticize you, or make you feel like an enemy. He asked of your plans after leaving the First, and then shyly told you his. By the time you both made your way back to Amity you felt as though your spirits had been lifted, and when you later watched the massive Talos bridge your way to Mt. Gulg you felt that victory was within your grasp.

That was, until Emet-Selch had interrupted your plans.

\------------------------------

“It’s about time you arrived, _hero_ ,” the Ascian hails at your appearance. You scowl at him, even as your stomach tightens in knots, and something constricts in your chest. 

“Oh? That’s a fine look on your face,” he goads you, shrugging. “I much prefer the sight of you panting below me when --”

“ _Shut up_!” you growl. Your grimoire is in hand, and while Ardbert is unable to interfere, he stands beside you, tense. He must have figured things out between you and Emet-Selch by now. Yet, he holds his tongue. 

“This ends,” you hiss. “One way or another, we end this now.”

“Have I taught you nothing about _patience_?” Emet-Selch sighs. “You’re calling for an end before we’ve even begun the final chapter. Aren’t you even wondering why you’re here?”

He’s got you there. If he wanted to show you Amaurot to sway your opinion to his side, it hasn’t worked. Of course you sympathize with his loss, but is this meant to persuade you that the Ascian’s pursuit of the rejoinings is justified? That can’t be it.

“Of course I am,” you grudgingly admit, knowing that he’ll tell you nothing unless you ask the right questions. What is the right question? You bite your lip, considering what you’ve learned.

“Who… who was I?” you finally ask. 

When you look up at Emet-Selch you see that something in his expression has shifted. Something has become sharpened, and he watches you. _Thinking_.

“Close,” he muses. With a start, you see the doors behind him part wide, and immediately you are besieged with the light and heat of a massive, raging fire.

“Come find me, hero,” he beckons, “and you shall have all of your answers.”

“Emet-Selch!” you cry, scrambling to give chase as he turns from you. “Don’t run away!”

You are too late to stop him as he disappears into the flames, and you soon lose sight of him among the catastrophe that awaits. It seems that you have no choice but to follow.

With a parting look at Ardbert, you walk into the fire.

\------------------------------

“I wouldn’t have believed it had I not seen it with my own eyes,” Emet-Selch sneered at your group. Thancred was already bristled and itching to retrieve his gunblade as the Ascian approached.

“Who would have thought that mankind could put aside their differences and work toward a common goal,” he shrugged, “and yet, here you are. What a marvelous achievement!”

“Come to watch us slay the final Light Warden?” Alisaie was quick to quip. 

“That would be quite a spectacle,” Emet-Selch admitted. “Though I do wonder, will your vaunted hero be able to contain any more of that brilliant light? She’s already beginning to crack.”

A tension was building among your group, but no one spoke a word in retaliation. It was an unacknowledged truth that no one among you knew what you would do should worse come to worse. You clenched your fists at your sides, finally breaking the silence.

“Move aside, Ascian,” you commanded, daring to meet his eyes. Only one more. One more Light Warden, and your journey would be over. One more until you would be forced to deal with the man in front of you, and whatever fallout would follow.

“We’re going to Mt. Gulg,” you continued, taking charge to lead the group forward. Following your lead, one-by-one, the other Scions quickly fell into step, trailing you toward the path to the heavens. The path blocked by Emet-Selch.

“Honestly, you lot,” the Ascian sighed, irritation seeping into his voice. “Having you turn into a Light Warden is counterproductive to my plans, hero. If you won’t be dissuaded then I’ll simply have to stop you, myself.”

Thancred launched himself toward Emet-Selch before you had even unholstered your grimoire, but a swift flick of the sorcerer's wrist sent a wave of dark energy to cast the Hyur aside. You watched him hit the ground hard and tumble over backwards, his gunblade sent skittering across the soil.

“No you don’t!” came Alisaie’s cry, the tip of her rapier sparking as it impacted with an aetherial shield. Alphinaud was already in motion before you could stop him, caught up with his sister in the blow-back as the shield exploded outward.

You swept a hand over your opened tome, calling through the aether to summon an Egi to your command, until a strong wind at your back forced you to abort your evocation. The pages of your book flipped wildly as dark energy snared around your body, dragging you closer to Emet-Selch until a ring of light erupted around you like a barrier. You tumbled backwards to land at the Exarch’s feet, his robes billowing with the rush of aether obeying his whims.

Across the field Urianger had cast shielding around himself and Y’shtola, the miqo’te in the midst of summoning some unholy terror from the air around her. Too late you called out as the sky above glittered, raining dark points of energy down upon them. You watched them fall, not far from where Ryne was kneeled over Thancred trying to rouse the man back to life.

That left Emet-Selch’s focus on you and the Exarch. You could see how the cloaked man strained to maintain his barrier, the grip on his staff unsteady as he continued the cast to withstand the barrage of dark aether. 

Flipping open the grimoire once more you summoned your Egi, a burst of aether transmuted into flame, followed by spells to choke and poison. The Ascian merely smirked at you, your magic unable to penetrate his shields, the Egi’s claws finding no purchase. A wave of his wrist sent a renewed burst of power to inundate the Exarch’s barrier, this time breaking through. You saw him fall before being swept up yourself in the gale, thrown off of your feet and landing some fulms away.

You hit the ground, _hard_ , the air knocked out of your lungs and leaving you struggling for breath. 

_We fall._

You remember Ryne’s distraught look as she ran towards you. Were you able to say the words, tell her to stay away? No. She fell, as if something had struck her. Emet-Selch said something, but your senses were already fading.

  
What happened after that…

\------------------------------

Through the fire and ash, the twisted remains of bodies, the utter collapse of a society do you pursue Emet-Selch. As you fight your way through grotesque fiends you wonder if _this_ is somehow what he wanted you to witness. The fall of Amaurot. Or in his eyes, the loss of everything.

Bruised and bloodied you stalk onward, pressing forward until the scenery shifts dramatically from a ravaged city to an orbital vantage of the star itself in turmoil. You are tired, you hurt, you are terribly sad and undeniably angry, and for one fleeting, shameful moment you wish that this wasn’t your burden to bear. But this is your reality, the hand you have been dealt. 

As promised, Emet-Selch is waiting for you, and this time he does not flee.

“You’re a complete mess,” he scoffs at your appearance. You have no witty retorts, no snide comments. With no one else beside you, you’re forced to acknowledge that it _pains_ you to look at him. It feels as if your soul itself wants to embrace the time you spent together, but you can’t do this now. You squeeze your eyes shut to force away the sting of tears, and you refuse to speak until you can do so without a waver in your voice.

“Who was I?” you ask again. No. That’s not quite the right question. You consider this for a moment, look to the Ascian, and try again.

“How did I know you?”

Emet-Selch regards you in silence for some time. He does not smirk, or laugh, or taunt you in any way. All of the amusement has bled out of him, and by the grave look he gives you, you are convinced that what he says is spoken with the utmost sincerity.

“You were the Fourteenth,” he says at last, and you feel as though the ground beneath you has shifted. Something is scraping at the back of your mind, but you can’t remember…

“...I left...” you continue, testing a theory. You don’t _know_ this information, but you can make an educated guess based on everything that you have learned until now. If Lahabrea and Elidibus were Emet-Selch’s accomplices, and if the commonality that binds them is that they are Ascians who have all attacked Hydaelyn’s people in some way, and _you_ who were the Fourteenth were not among them…

“I see you’ve met Hythlodaeus,” Emet-Selch murmurs. He sounds vexed and you find it odd, considering that the Shade is one of _his_ creations. The Shade of his once good friend, you remind yourself... 

“So… what happens now?” you ask, still holding your grimoire battle-ready. You don’t know how you can hope to defeat the Ascian, but you must at least try. There is no other path to choose, and if you try to flee he will simply strike you down.

Or so you believe.

“Must it always come to blows with you?” he sighs, but he makes no move to attack you. Rather, he closes his eyes and seems to be deep in thought with something. The silence stretches out almost uncomfortably before he continues. 

“Before you resort to violence, hero, there is someone you should speak with, first.”

You consider your options, limited as they are. You don’t really trust Emet-Selch, but what do you have to lose by humoring him? Will he introduce you to more of his Shades? With some hesitation, you holster your grimoire at your side and relax your battle stance. 

“And after… this is the end of it,” you say. Emet-Selch gives you a steady look, and when he responds he sounds… resigned.

“Yes,” he agrees. “It will be.”

He gestures at the air beside himself, and a swirl of dark aether manifests as a portal. You know not where it leads, but it will be your final destination before you settle things, once and for all. 

Emet-Selch extends a hand to you. You shudder involuntarily, remembering the feel of his larger hands embracing yours, his slender fingers trailing along your body. Hydaelyn, help you. You can’t have these thoughts, not now. You need to be strong, just a bit longer. 

With a deep inhale you take his hand, and so do you let Emet-Selch lead you into darkness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your comments and support, thus far. This is my first FFXIV fic (and my first smut) and it means so much to me that you've all enjoyed this. Though, I fear you may be after me with pitchforks when I post the conclusion. The final chapter will hopefully be ready very soon, it's planned out and I just need to write it. 
> 
> If you are a writer and/or enjoy FFXIV fics, come join a very friendly and enabling group: https://discord.gg/ftFnYbe
> 
> Find me on Twitter: @AzureSummoner


	9. Downfall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied. There's going to be an epilogue.
> 
> **WARNING** This chapter deals with consent issues. I'm hesitant to tag the specific issue because I'd be spoiling the chapter, but if you're sensitive to manipulation or issues along those lines you may wish to avoid this chapter. If you have questions or want to discuss something feel free to drop me a comment.

You can't see a thing, but it feels as though you are in an unending passageway. You're not even sure if your feet are touching the ground anymore. The only thing that anchors you from becoming lost in the darkness is the steady grip of Emet-Selch's hand around your own as he guides you forward. 

_This will be the end of it_ , you tell yourself, clenching your teeth at the agony that blooms in your breast. There are things left unsaid. Questions not yet asked. This is your last, your _only_ chance to gain some closure. If you say nothing, should you somehow live through this, you know that you will regret holding your tongue. 

Either your eyes are growing accustomed to the darkness, or there is a faint light coming from the path ahead. Regardless, you are able to make out Emet-Selch's figure before you. You slow your pace and then stop walking, bringing him to a halt with you as he still holds your hand. 

"I need to know," you say, though he may need to strain to hear, as quiet as you are. "Why did you… why did I…"

You gasp when he smooths his thumb along your cheek, his touch lingering a moment too long before he lets his hand fall away from your face. His tone carries a hint of nostalgia, and you can't help the sympathy that bubbles within you before you understand what he's saying. 

"When you were the Fourteenth, you were mine," he murmurs, studying your face in the shadows. You feel as though your heart has stopped. 

"It was a very long time ago," Emet-Selch continues. "Before the fall of Amaurot. Before Zodiark and Hydaelyn."

"And now…?" you whisper, not sure why you continue to pry. The answer will only cut you deeper. You can't have him. A daughter of Hydaelyn and a son of Zodiark, it would never work. Why are you even considering whether it could?

"You're not her," Emet-Selch states resolutely, ignoring the way you wilt at his reply. Of course not. He's told you as much all along. The sundering and the rejoinings, seeking to make whole that which was fragmented. As he said in Kholusia, you hail from the Source, the primary fragment. If you should survive the remaining calamities then your soul would be restored to what you, what _she_ once was. 

_If you should survive_. 

It hurts. Something squeezes at your heart itself and it _hurts_. You try to pull your hand from Emet-Selch's grasp, but he refuses to let go.

"Come, hero," he coaxes softly. "It's not much further."

Numbly, you follow his lead as he resumes his pace. At least you now know _why_ you felt drawn to the Ascian. If your Ancient self had loved Emet-Selch then it stands to reason that your soul has retained memories of those feelings, even if your mind has not. It's not fair. Your Ancient self is long gone, she belongs to the past. Why can't you be yourself? Unbound by a past life, free to make her own choices, not steered toward a doomed partnership by the conscriptions of fate?

The light grows stronger as you walk on, purplish-white and somewhat hazy. You are able to make out the Ascian more clearly now, distinguish his facial features. 

"Why does it matter to you if I become a Light Warden?" you think aloud, but the question seems to make sense. Why _does_ he care about your fate, if he doesn't want you himself?

"I told you already," he sighs, pulling you along. 

"It would be _counterproductive_ to your plans. That tells me _nothing_ ," you huff, thankful to feel _something_ other than anguish, if only for a moment. 

He says no more, merely guides you in silence. Gradually the space before you opens up and the light brightens so much that it takes a moment for your eyes to adjust. 

You are taken aback when you realize what you're looking at, and Emet-Selch finally lets your hand drop.

Before you, at the center of everything stands a massive statue of gleaming purple crystal, the form immediately recognizable. _Zodiark_.

"What… what's the meaning of this?" you ask unsteadily. A growing dread gnaws at your insides as Emet-Selch's silence stretches on, but this room, this _cavern_ itself is not quiet. It's faint but you can hear it, feel it, a subtle buzzing, the hum of aether. 

With mounting horror you realize that this pulse of life is coming from the statue itself. It's _sentient_. 

You've barely turned and run three fulms before you collide with something solid, stumbling back until a cool metal-laced hand seizes your wrist to drag you forward. 

_Elidibus_.

"Well, well, Warrior of Light," he chuckles, seizing your chin between his talons before casting a glance aside to his colleague. "I see that your time on the First hasn't been _completely_ for naught, Emet-Selch."

"And what brings the _Emissary_ here, of all places?" You can't see his face, but Emet-Selch sounds deeply annoyed. 

"I was _summoned_ here," Elidibus declares, letting you slip from his grasp. Trapped between two Ascians, it's not as if you have anywhere left to run. 

"Glad I am for it," the man in white grins. "You eluded me in the Ghimlyt Dark, Warrior, but I fail to see how you shall escape _this_ time."

"That was _you_ ?" you cry, backing away from Elidibus. "I thought it passing strange that Zenos wasn't trying to _grope_ me for a change."

"Well, what do you have in store for our dear Warrior, Emet-Selch?" the Emissary beckons, ignoring your comment. "Humiliation? Torture? A blood sacrifice to our lord? Though, I suppose that's a bit brutish for your methods."

You aren't sure of what happens next, but Emet-Selch levels Elidibus with a _glare_ that he didn't even afford _you_ upon your first meeting. You feel as if there is a conversation taking place which only you cannot hear, until the man in white fidgets.

"You can't be serious," he sneers. "Think of what you will do to the balance--"

"She's the _Fourteenth_ ," Emet-Selch growls. It's enough to stun Elidibus into a momentary silence. He watches the other Ascian closely before his gaze slides over to you, as if he is weighing something. 

"You're a fool," he relents after a time, letting his shoulders relax. "Fine. Do as you will, Emet-Selch."

You're not sure what consensus has been reached, but you know your fate is sealed if you do not find a way to elude the Ascians. Though with Emet-Selch at your back and Elidibus blocking the only exit, you cannot see a path out. 

"I was halfway there before you so rudely interrupted, _Emissary_." 

Emet-Selch moves behind you, and the time to make a decision is at hand. You'll have to take your chances with Elidibus, it's the only way. 

You spring into action, throwing your weight behind your shoulder into the Ascian's torso as you force your way past. Unfortunately the man in white is made of sturdier stuff than you give him credit for. He snags you around the waist before you get far, bodily dragging you back into the cavern. 

"Oh Emet-Selch," he taunts, shoving you toward the other Ascian, "it appears as though your bride is getting cold feet."

You blink, stunned. His _what_?

Emet-Selch catches you as you fall, using the momentum to haul you up against him. You try to wrench yourself away but he holds fast, pulling you along, closer to that thrumming statue. 

"I do apologize for this," he sighs, as if it will sugar coat his intentions. "This would have been much easier had you been docile as I was _guiding you towards_ \--"

He shoots another pointed look at Elidibus.

"But alas. I promise you, the pain is only temporary."

The pain? What is Emet-Selch _talking_ about, what is he planning to _do_ ? He's dragging you insistently toward that statue and he couldn't _possibly mean_ to--

"In _your_ case, I'm sure it will be prolonged," Elidibus smirks. "We _do_ have your wicked Mother's _blessing_ to contend with."

Oh, Hydaelyn, _Twelve above_! You feel as if ice water has been dumped down your back as you realize with dawning terror what the Ascians intend. 

Emet-Selch stumbles as you renew your struggles, thrashing wildly in his grip, resorting to everything in your arsenal with your limited leverage, to bite, to kick, to scratch. You cannot let them succeed in this, because once you are tempered you shall never be free, never be free, _never be free_ …!

"Hold still!" he growls at you, as if he could expect you to comply. You dig your heels into the ground, refusing to budge. 

" _Why_!?" you yell out, though no reason will suffice. You can’t let them stop you here. Your story can't end like this. 

"Well, go on," Elidibus encourages from the background. "Don't be shy on my account."

Emet-Selch pauses and seizes you by the shoulders, forcing you to look at him. If ever a man could appear so heartbroken you are surely gazing upon him now. He watches you for a moment before his mask of control slips back into place.

"I have been forced to live for an _eternity_ without you," he breathes, his fingers digging into your skin. "You left us… you left _me_ behind for your wretched Mother."

"I have carried both your sins and mine for a thousand, _thousand_ lifetimes, all in the belief that we would restore our brethren and I would find you again. And now, after so very long you are here," Emet-Selch half-growls, crushing you against him. "Zodiark strike me down if I should have to suffer another day apart from you."

As quickly as he embraces you he lets you go, only to resume his original goal of presenting you before the effigy of his lord. Far too late, for the little good it does, you realize that he has been clear about his intentions all along.

The possessiveness. The demands of fidelity. He even blatantly stated his desire to abduct you under cover of night, before his whispered declaration of love above the markets in the Crystarium. He had always meant to have you, in the end. 

"Theatrical as ever," Elidibus snarks, moving from where he has been leaning against the wall. He lazily trails behind you, obviously delighted by your cries of frustration and growing panic. 

"I'll admit, I see why Zodiark wants you so," he shrugs. "A fine prize, to finally have the little sparrow that flew away. You've caused a lot of trouble for us, dear Fourteenth, but an eternity of servitude should be enough to make up for it."

Your elbow connects with Emet-Selch's sternum and he grunts in pain, fumbling with his grip on you. 

"Would you _not_ antagonize her?" he snarls at Elidibus. The man in white flashes a wide grin. 

"Surely you jest? After the amount of hair pulling I've suffered by her deeds I intend to savor _every moment_ of this."

The Emissary distracts Emet-Selch just enough that you are able to dig your shoulder into his ribs and set him off balance, allowing you to twist out of his hold. Even Elidibus is slow to react as you bolt past him for the mouth of the cavern, where you are surprised to find Ardbert waiting, reaching out for you. 

"You came back for me?" you gasp, shocked that he would still stand by you after the revelation of your affairs with the Ascian.

A glimmer of dark aether across the space behind him is warning enough that the path is sealed, and you halt yourself before crashing into the barrier. There's no other choice but to fight. 

"If this is to be your last stand, we'll make it together," he assures you. 

"Why?" you ask him, bewildered. "Why would you still stand by me after…"

“Even the most valiant heroes can’t stand alone,” he says, showing a sad smile. “And I may know a thing or two about what it’s like to be deceived by an Ascian.”

He extends his hand again, and as you reach back for him you finally understand. Another that walks beside you. Two souls of the same color. 

"Talking to yourself now?" Elidibus quips, before he recoils at the light that engulfs you. Though half blinded, Emet-Selch dares to peer through the ardent illumination, seeing what the Emissary cannot perceive. For a single moment you appear as _her_ , one fragment closer to your Amaroutine soul. 

You take your grimoire in hand as the light recedes and prepare to make your stand. 

\------------------

"What do you _mean_ you can't find her?" Thancred cries, making a sweeping gesture with his hands. 

G'raha Tia fights the urge to hang his head in shame as his consciousness traverses the sea of aether, desperately calling out for your soul. Where have you gone? How have you so completely _vanished_?

"Emet-Selch is likely shielding her presence," he admits, gripping his staff so tightly that it causes his fingers to ache. It's occurred to him to search for the Ascian himself, but those efforts have proven equally ineffective. 

Without you to lead the charge against Vauthry the Scions have been forced to retreat to the Crystarium. This descends into frenzied speculation about Emet-Selch's reasons for taking you, and the group is forced to acknowledge the grim possibility that you no longer draw breath. The Exarch is eventually forced to play his hand, revealing himself to be the one-time youth that you met upon your exploration of the Crystal Tower. Even in your darkest hour he does not sully your name, but confides that he’s certain you yet live.

_But where are you, my Warrior?_ _Please_ , he silently pleads, _whatever happens, please survive._

\---------------------

Emet-Selch catches you under the arm and forces you to your feet. Your grimoire, no longer of any use, falls to the floor. Even with Ardbert's strength and your soul one more fragment restored, it is not enough to withstand the combined forces of two of the Unsundered. All you can do now is attempt to face your end with some dignity. 

"Cheer up, Fourteenth," Elidibus near cackles, taking you by the elbow to escort you along. "You’ll feel much better once you’ve been tempered.”

That does it. You wrench your dominant arm from Emet-Selch's grip. He growls and makes a grab for you, all too late. Your fist connects with Elidibus' jaw with a dull _thud_. He howls in pain; you think you've knocked his mask askew. 

"Control your _bitch_ , Emet-Selch!" he snarls, spitting blood. The Architect has already recaptured you; as if you'd had a place to run. Still, you grin at the Emissary with too many teeth. One last hurrah for the Warrior of Light and Darkness.

"Call her that again and it will be _my_ fist darkening your mouth, Elidibus."

There's a tug at your waist, unbalancing you from your feet. The bravado melts. Your stomach drops. You attempt to dig your heels into the ground, to struggle against your captor for the little good it does. Emet-Selch won't be deterred. You falter and he half-carries you toward the mass of pulsing, violet crystal. The ache in your chest is akin to grief, and if it is any indication, this man you've spent recent days enamored with was likely a very different person in your past life. 

Now, he stands as the harbinger of your doom. 

"Lost your nerve, Warrior? Cheer up," Elidibus crows behind you. "You get to live happily ever after with your long-lost soulmate. Zodiark willing, he'll keep you on a short leash."

"I swear, if you don't shut up I'll let her hit you again," Emet-Selch scowls. Elidibus opens his mouth to respond, but appears to think better of it. You rally your thoughts for something, _anything_ to delay the inevitable.

"Emet-Selch," you plead, in a final, desperate attempt, "if you care for me at all then I beg you, don't do this." He only sighs in exasperation, unwavering in his resolve. 

"Whining only suits you behind closed doors, my darling," he replies, more gently than you would have expected. The Emissary chokes on his embarrassment. "Oh don't be a prude _now_ , Elidibus. I thought you were inviting yourself along for the honeymoon."

He's probably staring daggers at Emet-Selch, but you can’t be sure underneath that mask. 

“You’re going to waste all of this light that I’ve absorbed?” you ask. It’s true. If Zodiark nullifies the light within you, nothing will be left to flood the First. Even if Vauthry remains as the sole Light Warden, it will take time, _decades_ at least, to rebuild everything that you have unmade. At this point you’re grasping for anything that will find its mark, one last act of defiance. It fails.

“A pity,” Emet-Selch concedes, “but you're worth the trade-off.”

You wince as you are pushed down, forced to kneel before the towering statue. There is a dark, oppressive energy that emanates from the crystal, a vibration that seems to be feeling out the edges of your very essence. It pushes against you from all sides, prodding at the cracks in your aether, no thanks to the abundance of light within you. 

_At last we meet, Warrior of Light._

Your eyes widen, and you stare up at the looming idol as you come to understand what you are hearing. Zodiark speaks to you.

“It’s rude not to reply when you are addressed,” Elidibus admonishes you. Glaring up at him, you wonder at the thickness of his robes. If he would feel any _pain_ should you bite. 

_Enough, Emissary_ , the voice commands. _Let us welcome the Fourteenth’s return to our fold._

Unseen tendrils of dark aether press against your chest, bruising in their efforts. You growl from the discomfort of being poked at like a test subject, and twist against the Ascian’s grip. The energy around you constricts and becomes stifling. You draw as deep a breath as possible through your mouth, willing the light within you to withstand the pressure for as long as you can.

Hydaelyn may yet save you, you think. Her blessing has protected you this far from tempering by the Source’s Primals, though you acknowledge that Zodiark’s influence is far beyond any Primal you have challenged before. He who once stood on par with Hydaelyn herself, or as Emet-Selch had called them, the ‘oldest of Primals’. Whether or not the Mother Crystal’s embrace will protect you remains to be seen, but you will find out before long.

_Fear not the dark, my child_ , Zodiark beckons. _You are mine, and you shall carry out my will in your rightful place among the Convocation._

You told Emet-Selch that this would be the end of things. You weren’t wrong.

In the span of a short moment you think of the Source, of the many friends you have made along your journey. The places you have traveled to, the feats you have accomplished. You think of your time on the First, and how many people’s lives you have affected. You consider the Exarch, regretful that matters transpired as they did. And lastly, you think of the Scions, praying in silence that they will find a way to stop you.

Something sharp spears into your chest, impaling you to the core. It is an agony that you have never experienced before, not even when Midgardsormr stripped you of Hydaelyn’s blessing. The light that once boiled within you recedes in the wake of eclipsing darkness, burned away by the Primal’s touch. 

You open your mouth to scream when Zodiark at last rips your Mother’s protections away, but in the end you’re not sure that you ever make a sound at all.

\---------------------------------

There’s no sense of time passing, only a gradual return to awareness. You awaken in a warm embrace, and when you open your eyes you find that Emet-Selch is watching you. 

You tilt your head, spotting Elidibus leaned back against a wall. He seems disinterested, but regards you all the same. Squirming out of Emet-Selch’s hold you force yourself to sit upright, rubbing at your temples as if to clear away the fog that lingers in your mind. You peer up at the crystal statue, but it no longer speaks. 

It doesn’t matter. Zodiark has tempered you. It’s a thought that inspires a neutral reaction. Perhaps you should feel angry, upset, terrified… but you find that you don’t care. It just simply _is_. You look back to Emet-Selch, who appears gravely concerned for some reason. Well, no. You shouldn’t call him that.

“Hades,” you say, reaching up to sweep the hair away from his face. “What pains you so?”

You catch a flash of vulnerability in his eyes before he seizes you in his arms, and belatedly you return his embrace. He’s shaking, you realize.

“I don’t need to be here for this,” Elidibus sighs, kicking off from the wall. He signals you with a casual wave. “Welcome back, Fourteenth. Do take care of Emet-Selch, will you? He’s been miserable to deal with in your absence.”

The Emissary disappears through a portal of aether, leaving you with your muddled thoughts as you attempt to comfort the man in your arms. He doesn’t say much, not yet. You’re not sure that he _can_. It gives you time to collect yourself, and as the haze clears from your head your memories come into focus. 

Being summoned by the Exarch. Your journey across the First with the Scions. Your march against Vauthry. What a troublemaker you have been.

“Oh, my poor Hades,” you lament, reaching up to stroke your fingers through his hair. “I’ve given you a terrible time, haven’t I?”

His fingers are digging into your back, and somewhat distantly you wonder if you’ll bruise. It doesn’t matter, you think. You would gladly wear his mark. 

“I’m so sorry, love,” you soothe, tracing your fingers along the back of his neck. His breathing gradually steadies and he’s finally able to relax his hold enough to draw back and _look_ at you. He’s smiling, and you feel as though you haven’t seen him look so at peace for a very, very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof. 7 months after Shadowbringers released and I still can't cope with my feelings. What do I do? Write a "the bad guy wins" story. I'm sure it will only get worse when 5.2 drops.
> 
> I approached this from the angle that WoL is the Fourteenth and had a loving relationship with Hades in her past life. After she is reincarnated as the WoL and meets Emet-Selch she finds that her soul still retains memories of loving him, even if she has no idea why she feels the way that she does. More or less, WoL chooses Hades again in this new life, but a thousand thousand lifetimes of loneliness and tempering have been more than a little problematic on his end. I recognize that the issue of tempering gets into consent issues territory that may be off-putting for some readers. This will be explored further in additional stories. 
> 
> After I post the Epilogue I... will probably need to write something happy, I don't know.
> 
> If you are a writer and/or enjoy FFXIV fics, come join a very friendly and enabling group: https://discord.gg/ftFnYbe
> 
> Find me on Twitter: @AzureSummoner


	10. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Have you heard the tale of the ‘Red String of Fate’?” Hades once asks you.

Time loses meaning when your presence is not demanded anywhere. You’re not sure how long it’s been since you were brought to this new Amaurot. Days? A week? Not that it really matters. Unbound from Hydaelyn and with no Scions to contend with, for the first time in an age you are free to pursue what you want. And all that you want at this moment is Hades.

He sleeps peacefully, wrapped around you with his head resting upon your breast. His hair is silk at your fingertips, slow breath warm against your skin. You know that this is a short repose (Hades had called it an 'absence of marital leave' -- your heart still flutters at the thought of those words). Soon you will be called back to duty, a servant of Zodiark tasked with the resurrection of your lord. Hades has already apologized for what he will ask of you. As he builds his empires he would have no other but you by his side. In every lifetime you will be his partner, his wife. You will love him, support him, rule beside him, bear his sundered children, grow old and die with him. And you will do it again, and again, but you will always be by his side.

You close your eyes and think of your life before now. The life you shared in ancient Amaurot. You remember peaceful days spent in the company of your colleagues, days spent buried in your research and (among many experiments gone awry, you mischievous thing) shaping your whims into creation. And most of all you remember your friend Hades, a brilliant but moody man who you watched rise from your days at the Akadaemia to ascend to the prestigious position of Emet-Selch. In those days, you would never have imagined that he saw you as anything more than one of the few companions he would tolerate with any degree of intimacy. By the time you realized that he was pursuing you, you were already well and truly seduced.

Your memories aren’t perfect though. In fact, there are many gaps. Almost everything after your appointment to the Convocation is a blank, and anything related to Zodiark or Hydaelyn simply doesn’t exist. If you try to focus on it too hard or ask questions you find that your words die in your throat, and you feel so dizzy that you might pass out. Hades has reassured you that it’s a side-effect of the sundering. Once you’ve recovered your missing fragments your memories will be made whole, and now that he knows you can reclaim your shards without a rejoining, he may have to alter his plans. Elidibus will have a fit, perhaps, but he’ll learn to deal with it. All that Hades asks is that you trust him, and he promises to set everything right. 

To that end, he’s had many questions for you. You’ve already expressed your concerns about the white Auracite in the Scions’ possession, though you don’t know where they would muster the aether needed to destroy an Ascian soul. The most they might do is imprison your Hades indefinitely, but where would that leave you? Still, he seemed less concerned about the Auracite and more interested in the Exarch. Sadly, you’ve had little to tell him. There’s not much you’ve learned about the man during your time on the First, not his identity nor how he was able to summon you between worlds. You apologized, fearing that you had disappointed Hades, but he kissed your cheek and swore that you have never disappointed him. And when he sensed your lingering self-doubts, he swiftly carried you off to bed and turned your focus to more…  _ pleasant _ things.

Your poor, dear Hades. You can’t imagine the loneliness he has endured through the millenia, or the weight of the burden on his shoulders. How broken he had looked when you called his name for the first time, after he had saved you from Hydaelyn’s spell. You thought he would fall apart right then, but no. He’s remained strong for all of this time so that you could be reunited, and if he should falter now you will be there to support him. You brush his hair and watch the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he sleeps and you think of how beautiful he is. He doesn’t hear you, but you whisper reassurances that he won’t ever be alone again.

Without Hades awake to distract you, your thoughts gradually turn to the Scions. You think that you will cross paths with them at least once more in their lifetimes. It would be nice to say 'goodbye'. They were faithful friends to you during your travels, even if they are misguided in their intentions. You wonder what they’ll do now. They have no hope of defeating Vauthry without you, and no prospects of returning to the Source. If they could only see how Hydaelyn manipulates them they might be convinced to give up their foolish mission. They could live out their remaining days in peace. No. You doubt that they’ll abandon their course, although in time they may find that they have no choice. It was always  _ you _ who gave them hope in their darkest hour, and  _ you _ who carried them through to victory, time and time again. But now that you are back where you belong, what do they have left?

You haven’t shared any of these thoughts with Hades, of course. You can only imagine the reaction he’d have if he knew you were thinking of paying your former friends a visit. He’s barely let you out of his sight since getting you back, you know he’ll never allow it. Though, you know from your regained memories that you were as stubborn then as you are now. He should have an idea of what to expect from you. And if not, you’ll just have to make sure that he doesn’t find out.

But those are concerns for another day. The time to confront the challenges ahead of you will come soon enough, but that time is not tonight. For now, for this moment, you need only enjoy the peace that comes with Hades beside you, and the knowledge that you will be parted no longer. You circle your arms around his sleeping form and settle among the warm blankets, and you rest.

\---------------------

_ “Have you heard the tale of the ‘Red String of Fate’?” Hades once asks you. Ah, no, you’re in public. You need to address him as ‘Emet-Selch’ for now. You turn over his question for a few moments, but eventually you’re forced to give up. _

_ “It’s only a superstition, of course, but it’s said that two people are predestined to meet by an invisible red thread that connects them.” By now, as is his habit, Emet-Selch is orating with a finger pointed in the air. “The thread may tangle or snare, but it will never break.” _

_ “Hmm…” you consider, tapping your lips. You grin as an idea comes to mind. “Like you and Hythlodaeus?” _

_ “Absolutely not!” he snaps, turning on you in an instant. “Why would you think of that motley fool?” _

_ You can’t stifle the wide smile that your lips stretch into. Tormenting your old friend is one of your favorite pastimes. Perhaps if he didn’t make it so easy… _

_ “You said it connects two people who are destined to meet, that’s absolutely you and Hythlodaeus! You two have been joined at the hip since forever.” _

_ “That’s not what I meant!” Emet-Selch grumbles. “It’s rather… I suppose you could say that the individuals are ‘soul mates’.” _

_ “Huh…” you blink, the silly grin melting off of your face. “That’s rather sentimental for you. I thought you didn’t believe in such things.” _

_ “I don’t,” he huffs. “It’s a silly story, but it’s exactly the sort of drivel that you seem to enjoy.” _

_ “Consider me flattered that you would repeat such an absurdity, just for me!” you laugh, delighted that this unsociable man thinks enough of your friendship to entertain you. “However, oh most esteemed Emet-Selch, I think there is more here than you are telling me.” _

_ “Such as?” He sounds uncertain. He ought to be. He has known you for long enough to expect the sort of behavior that will come next. _

_ “I think you are telling me that you’ve found such a string wrapped around your finger, and now you are curious to find out where it leads.” _

_ He balks at your suggestion, but you don’t give him the chance to respond. You thread your arm through his and begin to pull him along the sidewalk with you. _

_ “How fortunate that you have a friend like me to help! Well? Let’s go. I want to see the soul mate of Emet-Selch with my own eyes.” _

_ For all of his protests he grudgingly lets you drag him along, though Emet-Selch doesn’t need anyone to tell him where his thread leads. One day he’ll have the courage to explain that it’s connected to you.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you in the sequel.
> 
> Thank you to TenkeyLess for helping me iron out some plot details while I was early into this. And thanks to the Emet-Selch discord for reading my snippets and enabling me along the way. <3
> 
> If you are a writer and/or enjoy FFXIV fics, come join a very friendly and enabling group: https://discord.gg/ftFnYbe
> 
> Find me on Twitter: @AzureSummoner

**Author's Note:**

> What the hell did I do...


End file.
